Us against the world
by TheMidoriFairy
Summary: When John Watson enters his senior year of high school, he finds himself absolutely friendless and desperate to ever be appreciated for who he is. But he will soon realise that he doesn't need "friends" : he only needs one. Au Johnlock ; rated T for safety (I don't know if it's gonna be useful yet, but it might.)
1. Chapter 1

The very last year of high school had just begun ; and John had never hated that day as much as he did now.

He had never had many friends, but had always managed to find a few people that found his company worth something ; whatever that was. It was clear to him he wasn't loved by most of the students. He was really shy, rather clumsy, and the word "hardworking" was certainly an understatement when used to describe him. His one dream was to become a doctor, so he worked as hard as one could ; but when one's a teenager in his last year of high school, he's not expected to do so by his peers. Although he knew "not fun to be around" to be by far the nicest thing his "friends" could think about him. Friends he didn't even have now. First day, and he was already alone. Not that it was a surprise ; he hadn't exactly been close to them in any way. He was mostly the one to give them answers to their maths assignments and history essays. But still, it hurt to know he was not wanted anymore. A quick "hello", a few embarassed looks and akward silence was all it took for him to understand he wasn't welcome.

He sighed. This was hell already. He was back home, his science books open on his bed, but his mind was still at school, surrounded by laughters and stares. The door opened.

"Oh, it's you." John's attempt to a smile didn't seem convincing. Harry, his younger sister, quietly closed the door behind her.

"How are you doing ?" she asked. She seemed worried.

"Er, fine. Taking a look at this year's science program."

"I see that. That's not what I meant." She hesitated. "John, I – why didn't you ever tell me ?"

He sighed again. Harry was entering the same high school this year, and she noticed the looks her brother had been receiving all day.

"I didn't want you to worry. And, well, it wasn't that bad before. But I s'pose I'm better off by myself, am I not ?" Another failed attempt to smile. Harry frowned.

"You should've told me anyway." She pulled him close into a hug. "But don't worry, I'll be there for you. You won't be alone."

"No, no way.", he said quickly. He softened when he saw the look on her face. "You're pretty, and funny, and smart. People are gonna love you. I'm not letting you lose the friends you can have because your stupid brother can't get some for himself. And I certainly don't want you to be seen with Ugly Jumpers John", he said with a poor smile. "That would ruin your reputation."

"Well, this one's always better than On His Own Watson". John's eyes widened.

"They say that ?"

Harry bit her lip. "Er, I thought you knew..."

John sighed – again. "What a bunch of wankers. They don't have anything better to do, do they ? Well, anyway, your classmates don't know me, and no one knows I'm your brother, so you stay the hell away from me there. Alright ?"

"But John..."

"Don't even try. I won't let you. C''mon, let me work know." He kissed her forehead and pushed her out of the bed. She laughed and got up, but stopped near the door. John looked up. "What is it ?"

"Promise me you'll talk to me if something's wrong. Just talk. Please."

"I promise." She closed the door behind her.

* * *

The first week passed at a snail's pace. The teachers had been explaining the year's program of their own classes – which John already knew of – all week long, nothing interesting had happened, and John was still by himself. Every evening, Harry went to his room and they talked for hours. She tried to cheer him up, to convince him this wasn't important, that he was "better than any of them" and they were "not worth his company", but nothing seemed to make him feel any better.

It was Sunday, and it seemed her goal of the week end was to figure out who would be a suitable friend for her brother.

"How about that Kyle fellow ? He seems nice."

"He hates my guts since I pointed out "sex teacher" wasn't an actual profession. He said he was trying to hit on a girl and I made a fool out of him."

"Smooth."

"Well, to be fair, she would've bought it..."

"Ok, so, not him. What about that Dan guy ? I heard he's into science, too. You could get along."

"Did you actually spy on every senior last week ?"

"Not every. Just a few."

"Doesn't sound like a few."

"Ok, maybe most of them. So what ? I hate seeing you so miserable ! So, science buddy ?"

"No, not "science buddy", because I'm smarter than he is and he can't stand it."

"Oh, come on !"

"Hey, I can't help it. I wouldn't mind, but he does. What can I do ?"

"You're not helping."

"Look, Harry, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I'm not that desperate, really."

"Wait, there's still one on my list."

"Really ? Another?"

"He's in the same class as yours, a guy with a weird name, tall, dark hair, pale skin, always by himself. You could be alone together, I guess..."

"That guy ? Never."

"From someone who's crying at night because he's bullied – don't make that face, I heard you – that sounds really uncalled for. And mean."

"You don't understand. He's the only guy in that freaking school they hate even more than they hate me. I still have hopes, ok ? They don't _actually_ hate me, after all, right ?" Her face seemed to waver between an "oh, please" look and worrying eyes. "Ok, maybe they do. But if I try to get close to that guy -which he probably wouldn't want anyway – I'm done. Just like you would be if they saw you with me. I can't afford that. I really can't." Harry took his hand.

"I wish there were something I could do", she whispered, her eyes glimmering with tears.

"Well, you trying to find me a suitable friend was actually entertaining." They laughed.

"I meant something useful. Something to get you through it. OUT of it." He pulled her into he hug.

"You already do. What would I do without you ?"

* * *

The next day wasn't better. Morning classes went on forever, but lunch break was the worst. He was sitting alone in a corner, and tables directly around him were all empty, despite the otherwise crowded lunch room. He noticed the same phenomenon around the student from his own class Harry and he had talked about the day before. He felt bad for him, but he couldn't get himself to talk to him. Like he had said to Harry, if he did, he was done.

First class of the afternoon was chemistry, and they would begin experiments this time. John usually liked that kind of classes, but not this time. He didn't even look up when he heard the dreaded words from the teacher :

"All right everyone, pair up ! Don't get the wrong lab partner 'cause it won't be easy to change later. Come on, quick !"

Chairs began to creak, people began to laugh and talk, and footsteps noises began to fill the room ; and when it was all over, John wasn't surprised to find himself still alone. The teacher went on.

"Ok, now that you're ready, open your books page... wait a minute, how come you're alone, mister Watson ? I don't think I have any missing student. ...Ah, mister Holmes, of course. You're alone, too. Er, could you come to the front with Watson here, please ?"

The boys barely looked up. "No, thanks."

"You heard me, young man. You have to work by pairs. I was being polite, not giving you a choice."

"I'm not going to the front", he replied, still not looking at her.

She rolled her eyes and turned to John. "Would you mind going to the back, then ?"

John bit his lip and got up in a sigh. _This is it, _he thought. _This is gonna be the end of me. I'm done this time._ He put his bag on a nearby chair and sat down next to his new lab partner without a single look at him. The teacher's voice rose again.

"Good ! Now, please turn to page 42."

John began to follow the instructions. The boy named Holmes didn't lift a single finger to help. He just sat there, his eyes lost somewhere only he knew. This didn't bother John, who would rather do all the work himself than work with someone who would ruin his efforts. He was so deeply focused that he nearly dropped the whole thing when the boy's voice rose next to him.

"You're doing it wrong."

John waited until his heart was back to a proper pulse before turning to his lab partner. "I beg your pardon ?"

The boy, casually sprawled on his chair, arms crossed on his chest, was eyeing the flask in John's hand.

"I said, you're doing it wrong." John tried not to look too irritated.

"I'm doing it like the book says, so I doubt I'm wrong."

Holmes smirked. "Yeah, because the _book_ is right." John rolled his eyes and took a deep breath.

"And _how_ exactly do _you_ think is the right way, then ? Mind, showing me, maybe ? Or at least help a little bit ?"

"You don't want me to help."

"Oh, and how would you know that ?"

"Obvious. Anyway, you were about to hold it too close to the fire. You don't want that to warm up too fast ; or else _I_ wouldn't be the one to waste your "efforts" as you fear I would." He paused. "Obviously."

For a second John feared to have exposed his thoughts at loud, but it appeared he didn't. He just shook his head and tried to ignore the boy, but still held the flask a bit further from the flame. He glanced to his right and saw the smirk on Holmes' face was back. He faced him.

"Ok then. If you know better, what's next ?" The greyish eyes stared at him. "What, you lost your tongue again ?"

"Why are you talking to me ?"

"Trying to get the work done. Now if you won't answer I'm just gonna go back to the book. Maybe it won't be wrong this time." One could hear the irony in his voice.

"You considered it because you took pity on me and desperately need a friend, but you never did because you knew it would only make things worse for you. You wouldn't even look at me at first. So why are you talking to me now ? You're ruining what's left of your reputation."

John stared before answering. He wasn't sure how the boy could possibly know all that, but he supposed it was rather obvious, given both their situations. He went with : "You talked first. I answered. That's what people do." Safer than to admit _Yes, I am despised by everyone just like you but I am still too proud to give us both a chance to stop being alone._

Holmes didn't answer. He took the flask from John's hands, and two minutes later the experiment was over and done with. John frowned. "You didn't even look at the book. How did you do that ? .. Wait, you skipped at least three steps here... no, four ! And that wasn't in the book, either... though it was a good idea, I admit... but you weren't supposed to..." He looked up, and stared at the face in front of him, the bony features, the expressionless look in the eyes of steel, the skin, almost transparent under the neon lights. "Come on, you can't be that smart. What's the trick ?"

"There's no _trick_", Holmes replied, visibly upset by the use of the word. "It's the easiest thing, three-year-old me could've done it."

"So you've done it before."

"Of course."

"This is your second senior year, then." The boy's eyes widened.

"I'm sorry ? _Second_ senior year ? The only reason I should be in college by now is because high school was too easy for me from the start – well, like every other school year of my life – not because I _failed_ a school year !"

"Wow, sorry, didn't mean to upset you. No need to yell at me like that. I was just wondering."

"Well if you were observing instead of just wondering you would have noticed I am actually younger than you, not _older._ Two years younger, they were wise enough not to make me go through the easiest years. Not that these are presenting any kind of challenge..."

John was looking at him in amazement. "So... so you really are _that_ smart." The boy seemed somehow a bit flattered for a second, but then his previous expression went back on.

"Indeed, yes."

"I didn't catch your first name earlier."

Holmes looked puzzled. "Why would you need it ?"

"Well, I'm not gonna call you Holmes all year, now, am I ?" He smiled and held out his hand. The boy eyed it for a moment, then shook it slowly.

"Sherlock."

* * *

_Author's note : I am french, and I have no idea what English school is like ; so this story is only going to reflect my past experiences of french high school. I'm sorry if it doesn't sound like reality for English people._


	2. Chapter 2

"So uh, I heard you got yourself a friend ?"

John looked up from his desk to find Harry at his side. "Where did you get that from ? As far as I know I'm still a hermit out there."

"Oh, really ? I thought er, you were rather getting along with your new lab partner. In chemistry class ?" Her tone was meant to be light, but she didn't look directly at him.

"Oh my- how the hell do you even know that ? For god's sake, stop spying on me ! And he's not my _friend_, for all I know. You said it, we're lab partners."

"It's just – I – you should be careful, John."

He frowned. "Why ?"

"Well... I heard... people say the Freak has gotten himself a new... pet." She was staring at her feet.

John rested his forehead on his fist, his elbow on his desk, eyes closed. "Here we go." He looked back at Harry. "Careful, huh ? Having seconds thoughts now, aren't you. That wasn't your first advice if I recall properly."

"I didn't know, alright ?" Harry snapped. "I just can't stand to hear what they all say about you... whatever you do, they always find something to _insult_ you... can't they just..."

"I told you, it's fine. And he's still not my friend, by the way."

Harry bit her lip. "Might as well be, now. If they're gonna call you that, at least make it useful... I mean, at least you wouldn't be, you know.."

He arched an eyebrow. "Alone and friendless for the rest of my life ?" She rolled her eyes.

"Call it whatever you like."

"You know... that guy seems to be alone by choice. Ok, no – not entirely. I mean they do hate his guts, no one can stand him. But, the thing is, I don't think he'd want them to, anyway. Besides..."

"What ?"

John seemed to hesitate. His eyes were lost on his half-written biology assignment and his voice sounded far away when he spoke. "He's absolutely... brilliant, the smartest guy I've ever met, for sure... but he's also... when I was around him, I felt like he could just – he could - read through me. As if I couldn't keep anything from him, ever. It's a bit... what's the word ?" he asked, suddenly looking up, no longer lost in his own thoughts. "Uncomfortable. At the very least. Wh- what ? What did I say ?"

Harry was staring at him with thoughtful eyes. She smiled. "Nothing. Sounds like an interesting bloke. Anyway, I'll be in my room if you need me. Seems like I interrupted your genius at work", she added, pointing to his homeworks with a motion of her chin. She kissed his forehead and disappeared. John stared at the door for a moment, and with a sigh, focused back on his paper. His sister always had to make things more complicated.

* * *

John could hear everyone's whispers as he walked down the halls to the lunch room. He hadn't had any contact with Sherlock whatsoever since their first chemistry class. Both of them had continued sitting on their own in classrooms, without a single word or look at each other ; he hadn't even noticed him anywhere in the building when they weren't in class. But the whole school kept looking at him as if he had made the final mistake. At least no one insulted his beloved jumpers anymore, since they had something else to comment on, but... still. He tightened his bag on his left shoulder so it wouldn't fall and took a tray. There was unidentified meat drowned in unidentified sauce, and pasta - yet again, John thought. He entered the lunch room with only pasta and a yoghurt on his tray. He didn't recall his stomach actually digesting that meat the last time he had tried it.

His eyes were looking around the room for a safe spot – somewhere not too crowded, that is - when they crossed familiar silver eyes. John stood there for a while, not knowing wether or not he should join the boy, confirming those "pet" rumors in doing so. He considered just walking away, but he had been holding Sherlock's gaze for too long now to pretend he didn't actually see him. He walked to his table and, with a nod, asked for permission to sit. A simple look from Sherlock to the opposite chair was all he got for an answer. He sat down, eyeing Sherlock's tray.

"That's all your eating ? An apple ?"

"Do I look like I'm eating it ?" Bent backwards on his chair, his arms crossed on his chest, Sherlock was still examining John's face.

"Right. Why did I even ask..." John began to eat, ignoring the boy across the table. Sherlock took his apple and absent-mindedly turned it in his long and bony fingers. After an awkward moment of silence, he spoke again.

"I've never been to Spain." John's head snapped up at this comment. He looked absolutely lost.

"O-ok", he said slowly, looking at Sherlock as if he had gone mad, thinking : _What the hell is wrong with him ?_

Sherlock didn't seem offended. "Is it nice ?"

"Uh, yeah, it is, but why – how do you even know I've been there ?"

"Your tan. You certainly didn't get that in England, so you went abroad last summer. Judging by your natural complexion and the color of your skin now, you stayed – say, a week. Some place sunny, but one not too far, and one your family can afford, since you're not exactly well-off. I don't think you could have been that long to, I don't know, Japan or that kind of "exotic" and far away country. The plane tickets alone would have been too much. I'm guessing Spain."

John's face didn't express anything. "You got that from my tan."

"Obviously. So, how is it like ? I'd like to go someday, it has a lot of astounding architecture. Especially Barcelona. I love Gaudi. But the sun isn't exactly my best friend. I don't want to look... baked."

"Right. Baked. You mean, like me ?" John was obviously trying to go on as if this was a regular conversation to him.

"Indeed. Well-cooked, I would say, but still cooked."

"Oh. Well that sounds less offending." He paused, opening and closing his mouth, as if he was about to say something but forgot it before it could cross his lips, again and again, trying to process what he had just witnessed. "So. You can tell where I've been from my uh..._ tan_. And uh, what else, can you tell ?" Sherlock's eyes sparkled.

"You slept two hours last night and... three the one before, and you spent the rest of the night studying, crying and trying to fight against nightmares, but anyone could tell that... You aspire to be a doctor, your father wants you to join the army and your mother doesn't want you to ever leave her side. And your sister is avoiding you on your own request, you think it's the best thing to do for her own good but it causes you pain that you're no one to her once you leave your house. Oh, and you've been living here your whole life and you think that's the reason why people don't like you. Because they still see you as the child you were and not the man you've become since."

John stared at Sherlock's face for a moment. He had been talking fast, words almost blending before reaching John's ears, and his whole face had suddenly seemed to brighten with passion. John bit his lower lip from the inside, nodding slowly, as if to say "Ok, I feel so stupid right now, why exactly did I ask". "Are you gonna eat that ?" he said, flatly.

"No", Sherlock answered.

"Can I have it, then ?"

Sherlock looked down at the apple he was still holding, and handed it to John.

"Thanks." He took it to his mouth, then stopped himself before taking the first bite. "You're not gonna faint or anything this afternoon because you didn't eat, are you ?" Sherlock smirked.

"No, I'll be ok. You can eat it without having to worry about my well-being."

"Good. I wasn't worried about you. I just don't wanna be held reponsible for that if it were to happen."

"How charming of you."

"Glad you noticed." They stared at each other for a few seconds, John casually munching Sherlock's apple, and both burst into laughter. They kept laughing for a while, shaking their heads now and then, as if they couldn't believe what was happening, until John choked on his apple. He caught his breath, and smiling at Sherlock with teary eyes, he said, between two coughing : "I swear, if you actually collapse or anything, I'll make sure you stay down."

* * *

John and Sherlock were walking slowly to their next classroom, side by side, hands in the pockets of their jeans, eyes wandering on the floor. Absolute silence had replaced their laughter. It felt weird to feel someone's presence walking next to them, since none of them was used to it anymore. John glanced at Sherlock. Until now, the boy had always been seated when John was around. Now that they were both standing, John could measure how tall he actually was. A long face with bony features ; a thin, but muscled body with long legs, looking even more slim in the black shirt and dark jeans he was wearing. _Gee, I wish I looked like that,_ John thought. _How tall can he possibly be ?_ A voice drew him out of his thoughts.

"I'm not that tall. You're short, that's all." Sherlock wasn't even looking at him. John made a face, a bit offended by the comment.

"Earlier, when you asked about Spain."

"Yes ?"

"You just wanted to show off, didn't you ?"

"What – no, I don't know what you're talking about. I was only trying to start a conversation. Isn't that what people do ?" Sherlock looked at him with the most innocent eyes.

"Like I believe you. You _don't_ talk to people." He took a minute to think something over and looked at Sherlock, his head tilted to the right. "Were you testing me ?"

"What do you mean ?"

"That - what you did, that's why they don't like you. That's why you're alone. Because people think you're just an annoying creep. That's where the "Freak" comes from." Sherlock didn't answer. "You tried me back there. You wanted to know if I would react the same way."

They kept staring in each other's eyes, before realising they had stopped walking. Sherlock finally smiled.

"Maybe you're not as stupid as I thought you would be."

"See ? I can do it, too." They started walking again.

"Oh, come on, that was _hardly_ a deduction." John's wide smile wavered.

"Ok then, tell me. How do you do it ?"

Sherlock sighed. "It's the simplest thing. Anyone could do it, they're just to dumb to even _try._ You see, everyone sees everything. But no one actually _observes_ all those things. That's all it takes, really. You see, you observe, you deduce."

"Of course. Simple as that. Mh, back to the Spain thing again, then. You said you deduced it from my tan, right ?"

"Obviously."

"Stop saying obviously. You're the only one to find this obvious. Anyway, if I recall properly, it only "told" you I had been abroad. You guessed Spain because I wasn't, and I'm only quoting you here, "exaclty well-off." But no one knows that. I kept that secret, for, well, _obvious_ reasons. So how did you guess then ?"

He turned to Sherlock, and his whole face was saying "Oh, please." "Just look at your clothes."

"They're not that bad, are they ?"

"They're basically screaming "My owner doesn't have money"."

"And my lab partner doesn't have tact", John muttered. Sherlock shrugged. He didn't mind offending someone now and then. He might even enjoy it, actually. John sighed. "Those bloody jumpers keep getting me in troubles, don't they."

"I like your jumpers." John's eyes widened. Could that man actually be _nice_ ?

"You do ?"

"Yes. They remind me of my grandpa." Ok, maybe not.

"Your - _grandpa_."

"He used to wear those. I liked my grandpa. He would always congratulate me and give me chocolates when I told him whatever grandma was keeping from him."

"Nice. Now I'm seventy years-old."

"Actually, he never reached seventy." John hesitated, but Sherlock didn't seem to be one for condolences.

"Blimey, you just made me a decade younger. I'm afraid I'll skip on the chocolate thing, though. I'm saving money for a new jumper." Sherlock laughed.

"What about the congratulations then ?"

"Oh, now you want to know if I passed your bloody test."

"Hardly." Silence. "So ?"

"Ok, I'll admit. You're uh... you're kinda brilliant. But I'll stick with what I said earlier."

"What was that ?"

"You were definitely showing off."


	3. Chapter 3

"Did you actually sleep _five hours_ last night ?"

John was taking a seat next to Sherlock for their first class of the morning. He put his bag on the table and started pulling out books and pens. "Can you stop doing this on me ? It's so much funnier when you do someone else."

"Alright, I won't do you anymore." John looked at the boy's poker face.

"That was a poor choice of words."

"That doesn't happen to me."

"This is getting nowhere." Sherlock smirked. John went back to his history book. "Why would you care about my hours of sleep, anyway."

Sherlock looked away with a thoughtful face. "The more you sleep, the less of an idiot you are. I enjoy your company much more when you're properly rested."

"I'll just pretend you said something nice."

"What, I didn't ?"

The exchange ended as the teacher entered the room and began the lesson. It had been a few weeks since their first chemistry class, and the two boys were spending their whole school time together. They didn't talk much at first, Sherlock being lost in his deepest thoughts most of the time, but they both enjoyed each other's company. In the meantime, the rest of the school had came up with brand new insults and nicknames for the two of them, from "Doctor Frankenwatson and his monster" to "Beauty Johnny and the Freaky Beast". Sherlock didn't seem to attach any kind of importance to whatever was said about him, but it wasn't easy for John to ignore them.

"That's as bright as they get", Sherlock once casually said. "Their childish and retarded mind couldn't do better." They were sitting face to face in the lunch room, bud John hadn't touch his food that day. He had looked at Sherlock, frowning – was that an attempt to make him feel _better_ ? But the boy had just looked away, pretending to find the greatest interest in the world around them. John had just shaken his head, and started eating at last.

The beginning and the end of the day, when he came in and out of school, were the worst part of it. Walking alone, surrounded by the glares and the disdainful whispers, was more than he could take. He was glad to reach his seat next to Sherlock every morning – in a way he didn't quite get, his presence always soothed him, and suddenly he could take a deep breath and clear his mind from the crap he had been taking. He was away from it for the day, but when they parted before going home, hell was back again.

He spent his evenings working and having endless conversations with Harry. She would talk about her day ; he would talk about all the secrets that students they both disliked had been keeping... and Sherlock had been knowing. Sometimes he would have a moment of weakness and admit it was all too much and he was tired of being the school's punchbag and tired of being hurt, and Harry would take him in her arms and make him watch funny TV shows with pop corn. But he would never admit that he needed Sherlock around to feel better. She would probably get the wrong ideas. Anyone would.

After a long and tedious lesson on Industrialisation, the class ended. Before Sherlock and John could get up, the boy who had been sitting in the row right before them adressed them. "I – I heard that you uh, you did rather, well, on the last assignment." he stuttered.

"No", Sherlock answered with a cold voice. "We did perfectly on the last assignment. What do you want, Greg ?"

The said Greg cleared his throat. "Uh, good, then. I didn't quite, get today's lesson. So uh, since there's an assignment for next week..."

John stared at him in disbelief. "Do you actually want _us_ to help you ?"

"I wouldn't – I wouldn't say it that way..."

"Then you would be wrong", Sherlock cut him. "Why would we help you ?" A girl's voice interrupted them.

"_Who_ allowed you to talk to Greg ?"

"Oh, he..." Sherlock began. John cut him.

"Sorry, Greg, we didn't mean to bother. Sally." He nodded and got up. "C'mon, Sherlock, we're gonna be late for biology." His eyes crossed Sherlock's and they left the classroom without adding anything. They walked silently to the biology room upstairs and took their seats.

"He didn't deserve it", Sherlock stated.

"He didn't deserve to be treated like we are because he needs help with his homeworks either."

"Talking to us was his choice, not ours. I certainly didn't want to."

"No, but you are going to help him anyway."

"Why would I ?" Sherlock turned to face him.

"You won't pass on a chance to remind him who's the smart one", John answered with a wink. Sherlock made a grumpy face and turned away.

"I'm not supposed to have a weakness." He suddenly straightened on his chair and quickly turned to John again, with the half-angry, half-pleading eyes and the pout of a child who's being denied his favorite toy. "Why can't I help it, John ? _Why_ ?"

John bit his lip, trying not to giggle. "Maybe you're human, after all." Sherlock threw himself back in his chair, arms crossed on his chest, as usual.

"Don't try to be funny, John. Your sense of humor is appalling."

"Yours is still worse", John teased him.

"Whatever."

John absentmindedly looked through the open door, waiting for the teacher to arrive. He saw Harry, hand in hand with a tall, blond boy. She peeked inside the room, noticed John and gave him a quick and discreet smile before going away.

"She never mentionned she had a boyfriend", John commented. He saw Sherlock opening his mouth, then close it. "What were you going to say ?"

"Nothing. Teacher's here." The class began.

* * *

Their last class of the day was chemistry. As soon as it ended, Sherlock was up on his feet. John put his things back in his bag in a rush and hurried after him ; by the time he caught up with him, Sherlock had bumped into Greg.

"Watch out", Sally spat.

Sherlock gave her a stern look. "Hello again, Sally. Tell me, when did you want to tell your boyfriend Greg here that you only have eyes for that junior guy ; what was his name again... Anderson, right ? Oh, of course, you _didn't_ want to tell him. Bye." He walked away without a look back.

"Sherlock !" John ran after him. "What did you just _do_ ?"

"I gave Greg a note telling him to skype me if he still needed my help for the history assignment and made a diversion so no one would notice and his reputation would be safe." He looked down to John. "I was being nice."

John closed his eyes and shook his head in a "you-gotta-be-kidding-me" way. "Gee, Sherlock, just don't - don't try to be nice. Ever. That was... a disastrous attempt. Worse than your sense of humor."

Sherlock looked lost. "I just spared him from our own daily misery. How is that disastrous ?"

"Sherlock, you just broke a couple up !"

"So what ? She was going to cheat on him anyway. I'm saving her the trouble, and him the pain. That _was_ nice."

John sighed. "No, no, it wasn't, but – whatever." They had reach the point where they usually parted. "Say, do you want to come over for a bit ?" Sherlock frowned.

"Why would I ?"

"Since we're lab partners, we could do that essay on today's experiment together."

Sherlock shrugged. "I guess we could." They started walking towards John's house.

"So much enthusiasm."

"What, do you want me to dance around you while screaming "Yeepee" ? I could, you know. I wouldn't mind. But you would regret it."

"Please don't."

"Now you're hurting me. I was really willing to show you my affection, you know."

"You don't have any, but nice try." They laughed as they arrived at John's. "Ok, here we go. C'mon in." Sherlock entered the small house. "Bedroom's upstairs, on the left. I'd offer you a snack, but I doubt you want one."

"Yeah, don't bother. Let's get down to business, shall we ?"

"After you", John indicated the stairs. They went upstairs, and Sherlock reached out for the doorknob. The door on their right burst open on Harry : "Hey, John , I – oh ! Uh, hello. Sorry." The door slammed back. John turned to Sherlock and shrugged. "She'll tell me later."

John's room was rather small, as was the rest of the house. A small bed faced the door, the pillow near the back wall, where stood the only window. Next to the door, directly on the left, was a tidy wooden desk with a lamp on it and a single chair before it, and there was a small wooden wardrobe on the left wall. John stepped in after Sherlock.

"I'm just gonna -" Before he could add "get another chair", Sherlock was sitting on the floor, his bag open, his chemistry lessons in one hand.

"Well, come on then", Sherlock said. "Don't just stand there."

* * *

There was a mild knock and the door opened on Harry's head. "Boys ?" They both looked up to her, and her eyes opened wide. The scene had no reason to be unusual – and yet, to Harry, used to seeing her brother working alone on the tidiest of desks, it was. They were both on the floor, John sitting, his back against his bed, and Sherlock lying next to him, on his side, resting on one elbow. Their chemistry lessons and books and drafts of the essay were spread around them, pens and markers scattered on them.

"Yes, Harry ?" John asked.

"Uh, doing okay ?"

"Yes, I think we're done, actually."

"Oh, uh, good. Mommy wants to know if uh, if you're friend is staying for dinner."

John turned to Sherlock.

"No, actually, I'm gonna have to go home now. Thank you for asking."

"Ok, right. I'll tell her then." She closed the door. Sherlock looked up to John.

"I'll write the final paper if you don't mind. I don't like your writing."

"Whatever. That's less work for me." Sherlock smiled and got up, gathering his papers.

"Good. See you tomorrow, then ?"

"Tomorrow's saturday."

"Oh, already ?" He put his bag on his shoulder. "Well, see you on Monday !"

John smiled and waved before the door closed on Sherlock. He heard his steps in the stairs, his low voice saying a polite "Goodbye" to his sister, and the front door opened and closed. Footsteps in the stairs again, and Harry came back in his room.

"So", she said. "What were you two doing ?"

"A chemistry essay on today's experiment. We're lab partners, remember ?"

"Was it interesting ? The experiment ?"

"Not the best we did, but yes, it was nice."

"Good." She paused. "So I guess he did want to have a friend, after all. I never see one of you without the other. "

"Looks like it. It also looked like you had more than a friend hanged on your hand earlier", he said with a smile.

"Oh – well – you know, he's a nice guy, so..."

"What's his name ?"

"Peter."

"Well, Peter'd better take good care of you, or else I'm gonna take real good care of him", he winked, getting up on his feet. "I understand dinner's ready ? I'm starving." She took his arm and led him out of his bedroom.

"You did work hard, today, didn't you."

"You have no idea", John sighed. She studied his face.

"You look better these days. Not as worried and tired as before."

John shrugged. "Well... I guess it doesn't really matter what people say, does it ?" He freed his arm from his sister's grasp, since the staircase was too narrow to allow them to stay side by side, and started going down. Harry followed slowly.

"I guess it doesn't", she murmured.

* * *

_Author's note : Thank you so much for the nice reviews and for following the fic. I usually write for my own benefit, and only started this fic for a friend, and your reviews really make me want to do my best so you won't be disappointed. I hope you still enjoy the fic so far ! _


	4. Chapter 4

Weeks passed and looked alike. John and Sherlock spent their days together and went to John's after school to do their homeworks. Rumors grew as their friendship did. Someone calling them "Ladies" with a sarcastic smile as a greeting was undoubtedly the nicest thing John had heard so far. Sherlock didn't seem to pay any kind of attention to whatever insult was thrown at him, and John pretended to do the same. He kept repeating his own words in his head : "It doesn't matter what people say. It doesn't matter what people say." When he first said that to his sister, he didn't know what he was up to. Now he regretted speaking so fast.

John had never been so glad to see winter break coming. The Watson family always visited John's grandparents in York for at least a week ; he would be away from everything. Of course, he would also be away from Sherlock. He clenched his fists as he tried to ignore the rumbling in his chest at the thought. He didn't want to think about what it could imply. It couldn't be true, he couldn't be – attracted to _Sherlock_. He had become his best friend, sort of ; the one person in the outside world to find his company enjoyable ; the one person he found intellectually challenging ; the one person to make him feel at home wherever he was. _Nothing more. That's already a lot. Already too much ? No, of course not. Of course not._ He felt Sherlock's eyes on him and glanced at him. They were attending the very last class before winter break, a boring lecture on the Cold War. They had been given an assignment on it the previous week, and theirs contained twice as much information as the lesson itself did.

"Is there something on my face ?" He didn't mean to sound so irritated.

"Not something _on_ it, something _with_ it. It looks tense."

John took a minute – and a deep breath - before answering. "Stomachache. I knew I shouldn't have had that saucy meat at lunch. I never digest that."

"That's part of why I don't eat."

"What's the other part ?"

"The very process of digesting alters my ability to think. I can't afford that."

John chuckled. "You'd still be the most brilliant man around if you were digesting." Sherlock's only answer was a smile. "Anyway, when do you actually eat ? Before going to bed, or something like that ?"

"What makes you think I eat at all ?"

"Well, to begin with, you'd be dead if you didn't."

Another smile. John hated that he couldn't keep himself from smiling too. "Fair point. I do eat something before going to bed and after waking up. It's my only human weakness."

John rested his chin on his closed fist and eyed him over his shoulder, a triumphant look across his face. "No, sir, that makes two." His smile widened at Sherlock's expression.

"Wel – what's the other one ?"

"You always have to rub it in everyone's face how annoyingly smart you are."

Sherlock pouted. "That's barely a weakness."

"I was only quoting you."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "What's next, smarty pants, did you tape me saying it or something, to prove your point ?" John sighed.

"You're such an arse."

"Isn't that why we get along ?"

"Are you calling _me_ an arse now ?"

"I wouldn't dare." It was John's turn to pout. The bell rang, interrupting them, and everyone got up, ignoring the teacher's last words. John and Sherlock took their bags and got up on their feet as well. They reached the staircase and made their way down to the ground floor along with the flow of students going home. John didn't see the massive boy standing near the staircase entrance as he turned around the corner towards the front door, and they accidentally collided. The boy, whose back was turned to John, slowly moved to face him.

"Uh, sorry, I didn't see..." John began.

"You watch out, Gay Lord." John's words choked in his throat. Two equally massive students, who were talking to the first one before John's arrival, laughed stupidly. John was about to step aside to get out of the brute's way ; but before he knew it, the boy was thrown on the nearest wall, his back hitting the cold concrete... Sherlock's arm pressing his throat. He was gritting his teeth, and the look in his eyes was daring the brute to say another word to John.

"Sher-" The boy pushed Sherlock back on John who caught him by the shoulders, wavering under the power of the impact. Sherlock stepped aside, his eyes still burning with anger.

"And watch your girlfriend, too," the boy spat. The three of them went away.

Sherlock turned around. "Come, John." He walked angrily to the front door. John ran after him.

"Sherlock ! Sherlock, wait ! For God's sake, are you crazy ? That guy's shoulders were at _least_ twice as large as yours. He could have broken all your bloody bones !" Sherlock didn't answer. John kept on staring at him with wide-open eyes. "Honestly, Sherlock, you never react at _anything_. You always act like you don't care what they call you ! Why did you _do that_ ?"

"They insulted you." Sherlock's voice was lower than usual.

"Sorry, what ?"

"They insulted _you_, John." John stopped. Their old parting point was here. They had agreed earlier that Sherlock wouldn't go to John's that evening since John had to pack.

"What difference does it make ?" John's voice was almost a whisper now, too.

"You shouldn't have to take this because of me."

"But I – this is not because of you. They hated me anyway, even before I knew you. They always did. This is not –"

"Well, enjoy your time in York, then. It'll do you good." His voice was almost back to normal, and he was smiling. A fake smile, for all John knew. "I'll probably be spending mine skyping Greg to help him with all those homeworks we got. By that I mean "skyping Greg about how dumb he is", of course. Well, I'm going that way now – see ya, John." He left without looking back.

* * *

A week away was more than John could take. Sherlock's tense face, the anger in his eyes, his words – the images kept running through his head. He had thought being away from it all would do him good, but he knew it woudln't change anything ; it would all be the same when he'd get back – and now that he knew Sherlock was hurt, too... He shifted in the car seat in restlessness. They were on their way back after ten whole days in York. John checked the time. "One hour to go", he thought. He could feel Harry's worrying eyes on him, but he didn't look at her. He just stared at the landscapes scrolling before his eyes. He knew she could read through him like an open book. She always could. She probably knew more than he did. Or than he wanted to know. He missed Sherlock, he just missed him, and Harry knew that. He was worried about him, about him being hurt, and that, Harry knew, too. Sherlock was all he could think about. And Harry knew.

After an hour that felt like an eternity, the car finallly parked in front of the Watson's house. John hurried out, took his suitcase, took it upstairs and in no time, he was out again.

"John !" Harry called. "Where are you going already ?"

"Uh, well I, I thought I could see how Sherlock's doing."

"John, we just got home, maybe you should..." she hesitated.

"So what ? I'm just gonna say hi." He hurried down the road.

"John ! Don't... if you – if you see him even during holidays then people... well they -"

"They already _do_, Harry. And I don't even care."

"But – John..." she breathed.

John was already running down the streets to Sherlock's. He wasn't living far from their high school, either. He stopped before the front door, and took a minute to catch his breath before knocking. He heard steps inside, getting closer, and the door opened.

"Sher – oh, uh, hi, I uh, I'm looking for Sherlock."

The man was tall, with dark hair, though less thant Sherlock's, and way shorter. He seemed a bit older, but was as impressive. "Hello. I believe my brother is in his bedroom upstairs, at the end of the corridor, last door to your right." The man stepped aside to make room for John.

"Uh, good, thanks." John came in. The house was big, with a high ceiling and what seemed like an endless living room at John's right. The wooden stairs were large, too, and they looked so clean John was afraid to put the dirty soles of his shoes on it. He finally climbed it, and walked until he reached the last door of the unexpectedly long corridor. _How many rooms are there in here ?_ He wondered. He knocked on Sherlock's door.

"Get lost, Mycroft." Sherlock's voice sounded dizzy.

"I don't know who Mycroft is."

A voice came from downstairs. "That would be me."

"Oh", said John. The sound of something heavy hitting the floor came from Sherlock's bedroom.

"John ?"

"Sherlock, are you all right ? I'm coming in, ok ?" He opened the door and closed it behind him. The room, just like the rest of the house, was huge. The right side was occupied by a high wardrobe and several shelves filled with books ; on the left of the door, a big desk was flooded in papers, open books and scattered pens ; on another shelf was a microscope and pieces of scientific equipment. A large bed stood on the wall opposite the door, surrounded by two big windows hidden behind thick and heavy curtains, preventing the light from entering the room. Before the bed was Sherlock Holmes, lying on the floor, his face against the carpet, eyes half-shut. It didn't take John very long to figure out what had happened.

"For God's sake, Sherlock ! What is wrong with you ?" He kneeled next to him and tried to put him back up.

"Well, God isn't helping, is he ?"

"Neither are you. What the fuck were you doing ?" He sat him on the bed.

"Now you're swearing ?"

"Stop talking. Is that – is that _cocaine_ you took ?"

"Of course it is."

"WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS ?" Sherlock winced.

"Don't shout, you're ruining my ears. It helps me think."

"Wh – no, Sherlock, it doesn't help you _think_, it ruins your fucking health !"

"You wouldn't know, you didn't take it." Sherlock's head was wavering. "It helps -"

"YOU DON'T TAKE DRUGS UNLESS A DOCTOR TELLS YOU TO FOR MEDICAL REASONS. DO YOU HEAR ME ?"

"There's no way I could _not_ hear you, you're yelling at me. Stop yelling at me."

John sighed and sat on the bed next to Sherlock. "Did you.." He paused. He didn't know how to phrase his thoughts. "Did you do this because you're hurt ?"

"I'm not hurt."

"You know what I mean."

There was a long silence. John glanced at Sherlock. "I don't know."

John hesitated before speaking. He fixed his eyes on the opposite wall, over the crowded desk, and whispered. "You don't have to do this. We're in this together. We can go through this."

"But you weren't there", Sherlock murmured. His eyes were close now. His head fell on John's shoulder.

"I'm here now." He studied every detail of Sherlock's face. The eyes peacefully closed, the beautifully shaped mouth and nose, the prominent cheekbones and chin, the thin features. He was breathing deep and slow ; probably asleep. John's mouth formed a tiny smile. He rested his cheek on Sherlock's head, and waited.

* * *

Sherlock woke up to the sound of the door creaking and closing. He was lying in his bed, the covers drawn to his chin. He tried to get up, but the nauseous feeling he got made him fall back in his pillows.

"I wouldn't if I were you", said a familiar voice. Sherlock turned around.

"John ?"

"Here. I made you coffee." He sat next to Sherlock. "Your brother said I could just help myself, so... I kinda did. I hope you didn't want biscuits, because... Well", he said, looking down at his belly.

"What time is it ?" Sherlock asked, rubbing his sleepy eyes. He got up on an elbow.

"Uh, ten. In the morning."

"Did you sleep here ?"

"Yeah, sort of." Sherlock looked up at John and noticed the dark rings under his eyes, the tired features, and the empty cup of coffee next to the bed. He sat up, avoiding John's eyes.

"You didn't have to."

"I told you yesterday. I'm here now." John's eyes looked for Sherlock's, and finally met them. "Just promise me there will be no more drugs now."

"Can you promise people will stop picking on you ?"

"I think people will always pick on me, but it doesn't matter. Promise no drugs."

"Why doesn't it matter now ? It hurts you. I know it. It always does."

John didn't recall seeing Sherlock so vulnerable. It was probably the drug he took the previous day and the still sleepy mind, but Sherlock's face was actually expressing emotions. The pain in his eyes hurt John like a knife in his chest. He swallowed hard.

"It doesn't matter... because I have you. I don't care about them. I don't care if it's us against the world, as long as it's...us." John bit his lip and looked away. He felt Sherlock's hand on his. He risked a glance, but Sherlock was looking down, too.

"So... you'll always be there ?"

"Always."

* * *

_Author's note : So uh, I have no idea what the effects of cocaine are supposed to be, that's why I didn't describe too much. I hope what I wrote is accurate and if it's not, then, sorry about that.  
__Also I have a tumblr here where I doodled a scene from the fic that looked nice in my head (better than on the paper anyway, turns out I can't draw Sherlock), and maybe I will draw more, if you want to see it. It's not exactly art though, but if you can draw and are inspired by the story I'd be glad to see it !_

_I just noticed I forgot to add the link. My bad. Here you go : _


	5. Chapter 5

_At some point in the chapter not nice things about gay sexuality are being said, so I thought I might warn you. I hope the upcoming fluff make up for it._

* * *

Before they knew it, winter break was over. John had spent most of his time at Sherlock's. The two of them had been working, talking, and making weird experiments with Sherlock's equipment. "How did you even get those stuff ?" John had asked once. As usual, Sherlock had just put on an enigmatic smile and carried on with the experiment.

They hadn't talked about the cocaine episode, or whatever was said that day. Their relationship didn't evolve much : they were always more than friends, and they knew it. Now that they had been clear with each other, though, their closeness was more obvious than ever.

That Sunday, the last day before going back to school, Sherlock had seemed worried. They were reading a book for their litterature class, both of them on Sherlock's bed ; John's back leaning on the wooden edge, his legs stretched on the mattress ; Sherlock cross-legged at the end of the bed near John's feet, his back against the wall. John had noticed Sherlock hadn't turned any page for a while, and had kicked his knee to get his attention. Drawn out of his thoughts, Sherlock had jumped a bit.

"What's bothering you ?"

"Nothing, I'm fine", Sherlock had said with a smile.

"Sherlock, maybe you can know what I'm thinking about from, I don't know, a motion of my finger, or a wrinkle on my face, but I can't. You're gonna have to help me here. Talk."

Sherlock had rested the back of his head on the wall and stared at the ceiling. "People will talk, John." John had frowned.

"Ain't that supposed to be my line ?" The look on Sherlock's face had made him chuckle. "I thought we didn't care if people talked."

"I don't."

"Then what ?"

"You didn't listen to me, did you ?" John had remained silent. "I don't want them to hurt you."

"They won't." John had whispered.

Now that he was back at school, he felt less confident about it. But he had Sherlock, and no one could take that away from him. His heart raced as he walked through the hallway to the classroom, but nothing happened. Nothing more than usual. He relaxed as he took a seat next to Sherlock, who looked up and smiled, and John's heart melted.

The day went by, and it seemed nothing had changed. Same old rumors and stares and whispers. John wasn't sure what to think about it, now. Were those rumors true then ? It's not like he and Sherlock were actually dating. Though they would probably be if they bothered talking about their feelings, which neither of them was comfortable doing. Was he gay, then ? He hadn't been interested in men before. He hadn't been really interested in women, either. But Sherlock was like no human being. Then, what – was he interested in aliens ? The thought made him laugh, but a glance at Sherlock made him stop. Not aliens, either. Just him. The complexity of their relationship – and yet, the simplicity of it. Being with Sherlock felt natural. And that's all John needed.

The last bell of the day rang, and they were out, walking side by side to the front door.

"Where shall we go this evening ?" Sherlock asked as they went out of the building. "My place ? Your place ? Spain ?" John giggled.

"We're too short on time for Spain, tonight, but I'll think about it some other time. For now, your place is bigger and it has coffee and I saw biscuits were back in the cupboard, so..."

"You'd better run, then. Mycroft loves those biscuits, too." They laughed and exchanged warm smiles. A bit too warm. A voice called out :

"So, you two finally made it, then ? You did the Freak, Johnny boy ?" Sherlock and John recognized a boy from their own class, called Larry. He was rather tall, with brown hair and eyes, and gross features. They kept walking. "I knew you'd turn out that way, you know. You always seemed like one for sucking cocks to me." John clenched his jaw. Sherlock glanced at him, and his eyes were saying "Calm down, it's ok, just ignore him, keep walking." Larry went on, a few other boys laughing along. "So how was it, then ? Did he like it ?" John stopped. "Did he squeal like a girl ?" More laughs. John turned around.

* * *

"Take your shirt off."

"What ?" John was sitting in Sherlock's bathroom, on the bathtub's edge. They were both covered in bruises and scratches, and their shirts were torn apart. Sherlock went back to him with a piece of cotton, a bottle of alcohol and pomade. "I said take your shirt off. I can't reach your wounds if you keep that jumper on. It's not gonna be very useful now, anyway."

John sighed. "This was one of my favorite jumpers. Now it's ruined. I don't think I can even buy one for now."

"I like the beige one better. And If you hadn't taken your coat off then your jumper would have been safe."

"Yes, but not my coat. It's more expensive." He removed his jumper and the shirt below it. "And if I had kept my coat, Larry would have been safer, too. Not easy to move with that on."

"Mmh, I do like his new nose." Sherlock said with a smile. He sat on a chair next to John and started disinfecting his scratches. John shivered.

"Gee, it stings."

"It's alcohol on bare flesh. What did you expect ?"

"What I didn't expect was his nails to be so long... Does he never cut them ?"

"Yes, what a girl." They were silent for a moment. Then, their eyes crossed, and they burst into laughter. "Seriously, what were you thinking in the first place ? Beating up a guy, like that ?"

"I don't know. I'm, like, the shortest person in the universe. Thought I might have a shot. You know, break his ribs with my head, or something." Sherlock put the piece of cotton down and started applying the pomade on John's bruises.

"You did give him a hard time. He's gonna remember not to mess up with John Watson."

"Well, the black eye he got, that was you. And you managed to give that other guy a run for his money, too. He was like, three times bigger, and you knocked him down pretty hard."

"I only had to push. The weigh of his stupidity did the rest of the job." They laughed again. "I think I'm done, here. You can put what's left of your clothes back on." John complied.

"Your turn, then." Sherlock unbuttoned his shirt and John took care of Sherlock's own bruises and scratches. After a while, Sherlock broke the silence.

"You're gonna be a good doctor." John looked up, a bit startled.

"I'm only putting pomade on bruises here. No need for a PHD."

"I know, but you're focused, and patient, and gentle." John smiled.

"So were you."

"Yes, but.."

"But ?" Sherlock's pale skin seemed to redden a little bit.

"I would only do that for you."

John locked his eyes with Sherlock's. He put the pomade on the floor, and his now empty hand went to Sherlock's cheek. He slowly ran the tips of his fingers on the damaged skin, and bent forward, until his lips caressed Sherlock's. He felt them trembling, and pressed further. Sherlock's hand grasped his arm. John backed away, just a little, and rested his forehead on Sherlock's curls.

"That was for the scratch on my lip ?" Sherlock murmured.

"I don't know, was I focused, and patient, and gentle ?" John whispered back.

"Yes."

"Then, yes, I probably had a medical reason in mind." He broke the distance again. He could feel Sherlock's smile on his own mouth, and Sherlock's other hand on his knee. He lift his right hand to Sherlock's neck, the back of his hand sliding on the bare skin, his fingers shaking softly. Sherlock breathed against his lips :

"Don't take advantage of my half nudity. I'm not that easy." John kicked his ankle.

"Shut up, Sherlock. Don't ruin this."

"Oh, go on, then, why don't you ?"

"And get lost, why don't you ?" Sherlock chuckled and pushed John's face back from his, his long fingers on John's chin. "You're losing your focus, Doctor." His smile was teasing but his eyes were intense.

"And my patience", John added with a roll of his eyes.

"I guess this kiss lost its medical purpose, then."

"I guess so." John murmured with a smile. Sherlock pulled him close again, and John locked his hands behind his neck, and his lips against Sherlock's.

* * *

John closed the front door of the Watson's house behind him. He heard Harry's door creaking.

"John ? Where have you been ?"

"Uh, I was at Sherlock's."

"Again ? You could have told me. I've been worried -" She was halfway through the stairs when John appeared with his tattered jumper and a huge bruise under his left eye. "Oh my God, John ! Did you have a fight ? Did he do that to you ?" She ran down the last steps.

"What – of course not ! Some guy from our class kinda bullied us and I kinda – broke his nose." Harry was examinating his bruise. "It's ok, Sherlock already took care of that. Don't touch it – ouch ! It hurts, Harry !"

"Sorry. You _punched_ someone ?"

"Yeah, well, he did give it back, didn't he."

"What are those scratches ? My, your whole body's ruined. I hope you gave him more than a broken nose."

John smiled. "I did bite him once or twice. He also got a black eye from Sherlock. Gee, stop doing that. I'm alright. Leave my shirt alone."

Harry was still examining the damages. "Did uh, did Sherlock took care of those, too ?" She was indicating bruises on his chest. John blushed and pushed her hands away.

"Everything was taken care of. Now let me breathe. I'm fine." He climbed up the stairs, followed by Harry.

"And, uh, what's the nature of your, relationship, exactly ?" John went in his bedroom without closing the door. He turned to his sister.

"I honestly have no idea."

"What does that mean ?"

"Can you come in if we're gonna talk about this ?" Harry stepped in and closed the door. John sat on his bed and faced her. "I really don't know what we are. We're not friends. I don't think we're actually together, either. I mean, no one would let us. Earlier, that guy, Larry, he started picking on us because we had _smiled_ at each other. All it took, was a _smile_, Harry. What is this crazy, stupid thing ? Do they do that to everyone if they don't fit in ? Or is it just because they didn't like _us_ in the first place ?"

"I don't know, John..." He went on.

"As far as I know, gay people didn't do anything wrong, and still they keep on giving a hard time to whoever they assume is gay. Can't anyone just be allowed to just – love the person he wants ? Is this really too much to ask ? All this bullshit I've been taking, it's..."

"John wait. Wait." John stopped and looked up. "Do you love Sherlock ?"

John bit his lip. "That's a strong word you're using", he murmured.

"You used it. Do you ?"

John stared at the floor. "I guess I do." Harry stared at him.

"Does he know ?" He nodded slowly.

"Does he love you ?"

"How would I know ?"

"I don't know, did he tell you ?"

"Like that's enough proof. Words." He sighed. "No, he didn't."

Harry studied his face. "But ?" John's face flushed.

"I might have kissed him." Harry's jaw dropped a bit. She quickly pulled herself together.

"You _might have_ ?"

"I... did."

Harry looked away. "Now you're telling me that you're actually gay."

John's head snapped up. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It _is_, John. Look what people do to you ! Is that what you want your life to be ? 'cause it's not gonna change !"

"You pushed me into this ! You spent evenings trying to convince me to find someone who would be there for me !" He was shouting.

"You were supposed to find yourself a _friend_, not a _boyfriend _! Someone to help you through this, not get you even deeper into this crap !"

"Don't drag Sherlock into this !" He stood up, his fists clenched, and his whole body shivered. His voice was low when he went on, and Harry could hear the sadness and pain through the anger. And she was the cause for all of them."He is the best thing that ever happened to me, Harry. I thought you, of all people, would understand that. Now get out."

"Joh-"

"Just get out. Please."

She turned around slowly and left the room. She pressed her back against the closed door for a moment, a tear running down her cheek. "I just don't want you to get hurt", she murmured.

* * *

_Author's note : so now I'm going on holidays, and I don't know yet if I'm gonna have wifi there, so I can't promise I will be updating for the next two weeks. I'll try to write the chapters anyway so that I can update as soon as possible. I re-read this one quite rapidly so I hope I didn't leave any mistake. If so, my apologies._

_I hope that you're still enjoying the story so far. I might thank everyone at the end of every chapters now because your reviews just make me so happy ! So thanks again !_


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's note : just below there are words in brackets ; they were supposed to be striped, to show Harry had started written but changed her mind, but you can't do it with fanfiction, apparently. _

* * *

_"Am sorry. (__Can you)__ Didn't mean to hurt you. (__Just don't)__ Just want to protect you. Forgive me ?" _John recognised Harry's smallish handwriting. They hadn't talked since the previous night, and she was obviously already gone. He took the paper and put it in his pocket before heading to school as well.

He hadn't slept. Not even for an hour. He had been silently crying most of the time. He could hear Harry sobbing, too. He had thought nothing could hurt him more than the fact she, of all people, didn't support him. But knowing she was hurt because of their fight was even worse. His sister was everything to him, she had always been.

When he entered the classroom that day, he noticed Larry glaring at him. His black eye had gone worse. No doubt he had been talking about their fight first thing in the morning ; John felt more eyes on him than ever. He returned them all a stern look and made his way to the back of the room. As usual, Sherlock was already there, waiting for him, and watched him as he arrived. John sat beside him, put some paper and a pen on the table and his bag on the floor, and finally looked up at Sherlock, a poor smile on his face. It didn't take Sherlock more than seconds to know what had happened the previous night when John had gotten home, with as much certainty as if he had been there himslef. The look on his face, the dried tears around the eyes and on the cheeks, the tired features, the note half burried in his pocket – and he knew every tiny detail. His hand naturally reached out for John's in an attempt to comfort him, but he stopped him.

"Don't", John murmured. Sherlock took it wrong. His eyes saddened instantly, but he hesitated before withdrawing his hand.

"Of course. I uh, I understand why you would choose your sister over me. She's family. I'm only... well, I'm not irreplaceable." John stared at him with wide-opened eyes and raised eyebrows, as if he thought Sherlock had gone mad.

"What the hell are you talking about ?" he said, a bit too loud. A few heads turned in their direction. He swallowed and lowered his voice. "I'm not chosing my sister over you ! She'll come around, eventually... I suppose."

Sherlock frowned, a puzzled look on his face. "Then, why..."

"If someone says one word against you today I might not stop at a broken nose", John sighed. "I don't want to get in any trouble right now, or, you know... send someone to the hospital. It would be messy." He tried to smile. "So, let's keep, uh, contact, for when we're at your place, alright ? For now."

"You say "for now" as if a moment would come when it wouldn't be a big deal for me to take your hand while we're at school." The thought made John's smile a bit brighter and his cheeks went a delicate pink.

"We're not there, yet. I guess we'll figure that out someday. Today, I just... well, right now I just wanna sleep." He laughed a bit.

"Bad time for that", Sherlock commented. The teacher had arrived.

John couldn't focus on the lesson. He could barely hear the teacher's words ; they were no more than a persisting noise failing to reach his mind. There was no space left there anyway ; too many things had happened, too many events and problems and new feelings that John could barely contain in his brain alone. He was too tired and still too upset to think properly at the moment ; no good would come from that. So he just let his thoughts wander from one thing to another. His fight with Harry. Her words, the previous day. Those were painful things. Words she had said before. The look on her face, sometimes, when he talked about Sherlock. Those were weird things, and things that remained unexplained. The way he talked about him. Sherlock himself. His pale, gorgeous face. John's pulse, racing inexplicably. He could feel it accelerating now. His deep, low voice. His smile. Beautiful things. Things that made him shiver. His life before Sherlock. Painful things again. Their kiss. No comment on that. His life now. Things that were... complica - "Driiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing !" John woke up in a start and gave Sherlock a lost look. He was sitting still, his eyes fixed on John's features, scanning his every reactions. John blinked.

"Did you get any of that ?" he asked, pointing the black board covered with white chalk and a messy handwriting.

"Not a word."

"Oh. Well", he added in a shrug, "we're screwed, then."

"It was History, John. We're fine. Books are more accurate than these lessons."

John got up and tried to stretch his back and his arms with as much discretion as he could. "Now you rely on books ?" he said, yawning. "First time we met you were at war with them."

"It was a chemistry book. Not the same."

"Right." They stepped out of the room. "What now ?"

"Lunch."

Every Tuesday, their first class, two hours of History, began at ten, and the lunch break was quickly here. They headed to the lunch room, but halfway there, Sherlock stopped. John turned to him, a questionning look on his face.

"Something wrong ?"

"We have two hours before us. That's plenty of time. I thought, maybe, you would want to pass on the school's lunch today, and eat something... better."

"Where do you find that ?"

"Home ?"

John smiled in amusement. "What, you can cook ?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I can successfully accomplish any experiment we do in class – and much more of them - with my eyes closed. Surely I can manage to make you some eggs." John's laugh softened his eyes.

"Not staying here when we don't have to would be nice, I have to admit."

"Let's go then.", Sherlock smiled.

* * *

Sherlock's house was empty. His parents were barely ever there, and Mycroft was only home during holidays, since he wasn't studying in London anymore.

The kitchen was a bit smaller than the rest of the house, but it still seemed huge to John. The wall in which the door was cut was the only one out of the four walls to have remained untouched and thus, completely naked, except for a small clock above the door. The three others were covered with furniture : a high fridge, that was made to look like a cupboard, was followed on the right wall by several shelves full of drawers and cupboards ; a large oven stood on the wall opposite the door, right in the middle of it, surrounded by a sink and a microwave. More shelves were displayed on the left wall, providing lots of space to cook and keep such things as cutlery. A second line of cupboards was fixed directly to the walls above the rest, and a table stood in the middle of the room, four chairs surrounding it. It was all wooden, and the ensemble made it quite enjoyable to be in. John sat on one of the chairs while Sherlock searched the cupboards for a frying pan and a box of eggs.

John sighed. "Your house is really nice. I wish I had a kitchen like that."

"I don't know. Too big." Sherlock said, his back facing John. John chuckled.

"That's one way to see things." He looked around. The silence lasted for a while. Sherlock put a plate in front of John and sat opposite to him while John started eating. "I've been thinking earlier."

"I noticed." Sherlock's eyes were fixed on John, who wasn't looking up.

"We never talk."

"We're talking right now." Sherlock's face showed its usual lack of emotions.

"I don't – I mean about... us. Being close."

"Talking's not my thing." John ignored the comment.

"Things are... complicated. I mean... We uh, we're taking a lot of crap because of - _that_. Much more than when we were both alone. And either it's gonna get worse, or we will have to keep hiding and pretending we're just two very good friends enjoying to spend all their time together. None of these situations would be easy to take. So I – I had to ask myself if it was worth it." John could see Sherlock's features getting tense, but he kept quiet. John stared at his now empty plate. "I don't know how to say this. I wouldn't even know how to explain it. I just – I think I need you." Sherlock had stopped breathing. "I don't know how you do this – it doesn't make any sense. But I never felt as good as – right now, sitting in your kitchen, eating eggs you just made me. Or as when we work together, or whenever you're around, really. It's not that I don't care that people treat me like I'm some kind of leper – I mean, it always hurts. But they're not important, and you are. Honestly – how did you do ? I've been hoping all my life to be the "cool one" for once so everyone would stop being dicks with me and here you come, and suddenly I don't even care. Well, sort of. I'd say that's brilliant. In a way." He looked up. "Are you even breathing right now ? Sherlock ?"

He closed his eyes, and his voice was a breathless whisper when he talked. "I thought you were about to tell me I wasn't worth the trouble."

"Oh, gee – did it sound like it ? I'm so sorry..." Sherlock exhaled slowly. John waited, but nothing came. "And what... what do _you_ think ?" He asked shyly. His cheeks blushed as he spoke.

Sherlock opened his eyes back, but seeing the look on John's face, he quickly looked away. "You didn't observe, did you ?"

"Oh, no - please don't do that now. I don't want to deduce, Sherlock, I want to know."

"You could have noticed long before we properly met in chemistry class."

John looked lost. "What do you mean ?" Sherlock still didn't look at him.

"I don't ever talk about things like that and now you're gonna make me confess everything..."

"Confess ?"

"I transferred in your school eight years ago. We weren't in the same class every year, but now and then, we were, and when we weren't, I could still see you during breaks. Most of the time, you would be alone, and you would read, or draw things, like trees or animals or people. I never had any interest in other people, they're all boring. But you were... different. You always seemed fascinated by everything. Everytime you saw or found something new, you would have that amazed look on your face, like you were the happiest kid on earth. The whole universe became amazingly full of surprises and beautiful things through your eyes. That's what I first liked about you. I observed you during classes, and I understood you were also really bright, and I appreciated that, too. Then you grew up, and from indifferent people became mean and aggressive to you, but you remained the same, always nice and kind, helping anyone who needed you, even though you knew you'd still be alone in the end. I should've thought you were dumb – really, who does that ? - but I could only admire you, and suffer when I saw you in pain, and wish I could make it all stop, make them all see what a wonderful person you were. I was repelling people on purpose, and you were welcoming them with open arms, whatever they did, whoever they were, and you still do, and I think you're the bravest person I ever knew. I don't know what I would do now that I finally have you if you decided that I'm not actually worth taking all of this. I mean, it's only been a few months. You could always realise that I'm not the person you thought I was. I'm just not -"

"You remember me from _eight years ago_ ?" Sherlock blinked a few times and looked up to find John agape.

"I would remember you from the day I was born if I had had the chance to meet you then. John, I've been wanting to be with you forever. Of course you're worth it. You're worth everything."

John's face flushed and he looked down. "Why didn't you ever talk to me ?"

"I was afraid you wouldn't like me. No one did. I didn't exactly try to make them, but... why would _you_ have liked me ?"

"Well, I still don't know why I do, but I do !" He reddened even more upon realising what he had said. "Anyway, you said I was nice to everyone, that would have included you."

Sherlock sighed. "I can't believe I just told you all of that. It's impressive what you can get me to do. Anyway, you want to eat something else ? That's not going to hold you for the rest of the afternoon." John nodded slowly. Sherlock stood up and went to the fridge. He found tomatoes and a strawberry flavored yoghurt. "Will these do ?" Another nod. Sherlock put the food on the table and stood near the fridge, his hands on a shelf. John ate silently as Sherlock watched him. "What are you thinking about ?"

John tilted his head and eyed Sherlock's face. "That I can't believe I never properly noticed you before."

Sherlock smiled. "I'm quite discreet."

"And I can't believe you never told me about this before !"

"Oh, like it wouldn't have scared the hell out of you ! "Hello, I'm Sherlock Holmes, I've been spying on you since you're nine years old, let's be friends." "Hello, I'm John Watson, and I'm about to run away from you and never return." What a mess that would have been."

"That was a crappy imitation of me. And I wouldn't have answered that."

"What would you have said ?"

"Maybe something like "Piss off" ?" They laughed.

"See ? My hands were tied. I couldn't say a word. Now you're probably thinking about calling me the Freak, too."

"I know I should think that was really creepy, but I can't help thinking it's actually pretty cute."

"The word you're going with is "cute" ?"

"Don't judge me, you were the one following me around."

"Touché." They went back to giggling.

"Look at us", John said. "Don't we look stupid ?"

"Maybe you do. I always look smart."

"Mmh, no, you don't." Sherlock pouted. John finished his glass of water and stood up. "Where's your bin ?"

"Under the sink."

"I hate bins under the sink." Sherlock smirked. "What ? You have to open the cupboard door _and_ the bin before you can throw anything away. It's a stupid idea. Not handy at all. What's with the smile on your face ?"

"I just remembered something."

"What is that ?"

"Earlier, you said we should keep contact for when we were at my place." His smile got bigger.

"I... did. I did say that."

"Where are we ?" He said innocently. He took a few steps, reducing the distance between them.

"At your place."

"What are you waiting for ?"

* * *

_Author's note : I found a way to have wifi now and then ! I'm not gonna update everyday but you won't have to wait too long either. _

_Hope you like this chapter ; it's more thoughts and descriptions and talking, but sometimes that's good, too, isn't it ? Anyway, I really enjoyed writing it. I also had more time to think about the details since I didn't have one day only to write it, and that was fun, too. I still don't know how long this fic is gonna be, since the more I write, the more ideas I have. I know how I want it to end, but not when, yet._

_ Also, thank you again ! I never expected so many people to like my story, and there's more of you every day, and it's just so amazing. (Told you I would keep on thanking you. Don't mind me.)_


	7. Chapter 7

"What's this ?" Sherlock stared at the envelope John was handing him without taking it.

It was Sunday, and the two boys were sitting in Sherlock's living room with a cup of tea, biscuits and drafts of a paper due the following week.

"It was christmas recently. Thought I'd get you something."

"So you got me an envelope ?" He arched an eyebrow.

"Open it, silly."

Sherlock took the envelope and opened it cautiously. Inside was a simple sheet of white paper covered in pencil. Sherlock stared at it slightly agape for a moment. The drawing was a perfect reproduction of his sculptural face ; every feature, every shadow, every trace the pencil did or didn't leave on the paper, was Sherlock, the usual look of pure intelligence in his eyes, and a small, but warm smile on his mouth. It was so faithful, he almost expected it to come to life.

"You uh, you said you remembered me drawing", John explained, embarassed at Sherlock's silence. "I made that and I thought, maybe you'd like to uh , to have it."

Sherlock fixed his gaze on John. "You didn't have to", he murmured.

"Oh – well, if you don't like it, I could always get you something else..." John rapidly said, disappointment showing in his voice. Sherlock pulled the drawing closer to his chest.

"I never said I didn't like it", he said innocently. "I'll keep that."

"M-merry christmas, then." John stuttered, his face going slightly pink. Sherlock got up. "Where are you going ?"

"I'll be back in a minute." He left the room and went upstairs, leaving John alone in the huge living room. It was a square room, with large windows on two of the walls. On another one were two high doors surrounded by a large glass instead of opaque walls, and on the fourth one, a line of bookshelves nearly collapsing under the volumes. Smaller shelves and small tables were displayed around the room, bearing all kinds of objects, from phones to ornamentation, and a beautiful piano had been placed between two windows. Two sofas formed an angle in the middle of the room, on a large carpet covering a portion of the pure white tiling, around a low table. A TV stood on the opposite angle.

John heard Sherlock's steps going down the stairs and a few seconds later, he was back, holding a peace of cloth, steadily folded, which he handed to John.

"It wasn't for christmas, actually – it didn't even cross my mind, I'm afraid – but I felt responsible for the loss of your jumper the other day, so... well I bought that. Merry Christmas too, I guess." He sat back next to John.

John unfolded the piece of cloth. "Now I'm glad the other one got torn apart. This one's far better."

"I thought so, too."

John laughed. "I can't believe you got me a jumper."

"Was I wrong ?" Sherlock worried. John bent and planted a kiss on Sherlock's blushing cheek.

"It's perfect." He scooted closer and rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Well, break's over. We'd better get this paper over and done with."

"No, I'm tired." John muttered. "Can't work right now."

"I'm serious. It'll be done in two minutes now." John grumbled.

"Do it then."

Sherlock sighed. "Really, John ?"

He smirked, eyes closed. "I'm not moving."

Sherlock sighed again and reached out for their paper. He kept on writing for a few minutes, his gestures slowed by John on his shoulder, and put the paper back on the table in front of them.

"Satisfied ?" John's voice rose from Sherlock's side.

"Hardly."

"Why so ? You finished it."

"You're not gonna become a doctor by cuddling all day."

A smile grew on John's face. "I sure am."

Sherlock put an arm around John's waist and pulled him closer. "You're gonna have to prove that."

"I intend to." They were silent for a while, Sherlock playing with John's hair. He broke the quiet.

"You didn't solve the problem with your sister, did you ?" John didn't answer at first, and Sherlock thought he had fallen asleep. He bent so he could look at his face, but he found his eyes wide open.

"Why do you ask if you already know ?"

"You might want to talk about it. I'm giving you an opportunity." John took a minute before answering.

"I just don't want to have another argument. If either of us brings the subject that's probably the way it's gonna end. I just told her not to talk about this anymore. But- things aren't the same now."

"You know it's killing her." John swallowed hard.

"I know. It's killing me, too. I just can't figure out a way to fix this. If she can't accept it, then what can I do ? I'm not leaving you." Sherlock's voice softened.

"Try to have a normal conversation. Talk about her. Show you still care, no matter what happened."

"I don't understand, you know. Harry always supported me, no matter what. I don't know what's different this time."

Sherlock looked away, losing himself in the comtemplation of the garden. "She doesn't want you to be hurt. That's all."

* * *

"Hey." Sherlock and John both looked up. They were sitting at the back of the classroom, waiting for the teacher to arrive, deeply focused on their conversation, when they found themselves interrupted. Greg Lestrade was sitting in front of them, eyeing their faces with interest.

"What is it, Greg ?" Sherlock asked quite coldly. "Something you still didn't get on that biology lesson I gave you ? It could have waited until tonight, you're ruining John's efforts to preserve your own reputation, here."

"No – the lesson was enough, I got everything. Thanks, by the way. I uh, I just wanted you to know that, not everybody hates you." In front of their silence, he added : "I thought you might wanna know."

Sherlock and John exchanged a look and stared back at Greg. "Sorry, what ?"

"Well, you know, it's the "cool" thing to do to pick on guys like you, or at least show you no sympathy and just, leave you all alone. But the truth is, most of us do that so it's not us they start picking on. I mean, we're all the same. But uh, the way you guys face that, that's really, er, brave of you. And you're still trying to make sure no one else will be affected by that and... well, I appreciate. It's really nice."

"Yes", Sherlock answered with impatience, "I know, and, I repeat, you're ruining John's effort. If it weren't for him I wouldn't have taken any precautions, so turn around on that chair of yours and face that bloody black board, or I will make you."

Greg nodded slowly and glanced at John, who gave him a smile and said : "Thanks, Greg. We really appreciate it." Greg smiled as well and faced the arriving teacher. Sherlock turned to John.

"We do ?" he whispered so no one would hear him except John.

"Yes, Sherlock, we do. It was a way to show us we're not really alone and we can count on him if we need him. And also pep talk. To make us feel better. Because we're sad and lonely."

"I'm not sad and lonely. Are you sad and lonely ?" John giggled.

"Sometimes I think I must be mad to stand you all day. But sad and lonely ? No, I'm okay."

"So this was useless, and we don't appreciate it."

"Yes, we do ! I told you, it was nice."

"Mr Watson ?" Their litterature teacher's voice rose from the front. John looked up, trying to contain his laughter. "Maybe you can share the cause of your hilarity ? I thought so. Shall we go on ? Thank you." She went back to her lesson. Sherlock looked at John with incredulity.

"What are you laughing at, anyway ?" John was trying to catch his breath.

"I don't know. The look on your face, whenever you don't know what's the appropriate reaction, with people, you get that, that lost expression, and it's just, I can't." Sherlock looked all the more lost.

"How am I funny ? I wasn't joking or anything." John closed his eyes, trying to repress the giggling.

"Your face right now is so much funnier than any of your jokes." John was hiding behind his book now, biting his lip so he wouldn't make any more giggling noises.

"You should see _your_ face." Sherlock replied in indignation. He looked away, pouting, then back to John, and he noticed the playful spark in John's eyes. He couldn't keep a smile from growing on his face, and he started giggling, too.

"Don't laugh, you stupid, I'm never gonna stop laughing if you're laughing too !" John said breathlessly.

"But you made me laugh !"

"Shh !"

"Mr Holmes !" The teacher's voice rose again. Sherlock quickly gathered himself.

"Yes, Miss Spencer ?"

"Surely you can tell me more about Ulysse's ruse to defeat the Cyclops ?"

"I'm afraid not, miss Spencer." Sherlock's face showed absolute seriousness.

"I presume you didn't read the book ?"

"I did. But I deleted it." Miss Spencer looked confused.

"You what ?"

"I deleted it", Sherlock replied with impatience. "Erased it from my brain. Its lack of interest forced me to."

Miss Spencer shook her head. "I"m afraid your own lack of interest in this book is going to lead you to your failure in this class, Mr Holmes. I certainly hope you don't do the same for all your classes, otherwise you're going to find yourself in serious trouble at the end of the year."

Sherlock shrugged. "Sciences are relevant, so I keep them. Parts of history are relevant, too, and I force myself to keep the rest until exams. I don't need lessons to pass litterature, it's the easiest course ; plus, yours are messy and irregular, so it wouldn't be helping, would it ? Since I'm the brightest person here, I think I'm gonna be fine. I don't know failure."

Miss Spencer was turning red with anger. She tried to controle her voice, but it was still getting louder. "Enough ! If you don't need to attend this class, then I don't see the point of you staying here. Get out of my class, and don't even think of coming back until you apologized. Out, now !"

"Apologize for what ? Being honest and telling the truth ? I thought it was telling lies that was reprehensible, could I have been wrong ?" He said ironically.

"I said out !" Sherlock stood up. John was still trying to hide behind his book, but he had completely lost his self-controle hearing Sherlock's speech to the poor teacher. His shoulders were shaking and one could hear him giggling. "Mr Watson !" The teacher's voice was trembling with fury. "Next time I see you laughing, you're out of this class too ! Do you understand ?" John tried to catch his breath and looked up.

"Yes, Miss Spencer. I'm sorry."

"You should be. Maybe you could teach your friend how to use those words", she added as Sherlock put his bag on his shoulder. The contemptuous look on his face was too much. John burst out of laughter again.

* * *

"I'm so mad at you !"

"I can see that", Sherlock replied ironically. John was still laughing, sitting next to Sherlock on the last step of the staircase.

"I just got expelled because of you !" He failed at sounding angry.

"You got yourself expelled with your stupid giggling. And it was litterature. It doesn't even count."

"Of course it does ! This is not going to look good on my file."

"No, it's gonna look gorgeous. "Despises litterature." A true scientist, you are."

"Just shut up, you. You're really going to have to apologize to that poor teacher. She didn't deserve to be treated like that." The last words were swallowed in a new burst of laughter.

"Like that's gonna happen. I don't apologize." Sherlock answered with a smirk.

"You mean I'm gonna have to attend all the litterature classes without you ? You can't do that to me, that's torture."

"Don't try to tenderize me, I'm not apologizing." John sighed and shook his head, his hilarity finally coming to an end. He looked at Sherlock with a gigantic smile. "What now ?"

"You really made my day."

"Glad my face makes you so euphoric", Sherlock grumbled. "I should give you that drawing back, so you can keep on laughing stupidly when I'm not around."

John nodded. "It wouldn't work. That expression doesn't make me laugh."

"I must admit, this picture is rather uh... flattering." He paused and turned to John. "Is that the way you see me ?"

"That's the way everyone should see you." John grinned, and Sherlock smiled back.

"You know, I just realised that, everyone is supposed to be in class. There's no one in the hallways." John looked around.

"That's true", he said, and he knew exactly what Sherlock meant. He looked down and reached out for Sherlock's hand, caressing his fingers before intertwining them with his own. Sherlock's grin went wider.

"That's hardly what I was thinking about." He slid a finger along John's collarbone and bent over. John shivered at the contact of the soft lips on his. His hand went through Sherlock's hair, and he started playing with the dark curls.

"Don't you love danger", he murmured when Sherlock pulled back.

"Hold on to that thought", he whispered back, pressing quick kisses on John's face. John grabbed the top of Sherlock's shirt to pull the warm mouth back to his, his tongue caressing Sherlock's opened lips, kissing him with more passion as he felt his own pulse racing. He felt Sherlock's smile more than he saw it.

"_Now_ I made your day."


	8. Chapter 8

_Author's note : I really try my best to describe the tone and reactions of the characters when they interact, but I'm pretty sure you'd still have to use your imagination for some scenes to really be as strong as I wish they were. I always try to imagine the actual actor's voices and gestures and facial expressions when I write, and it really helps me get in the story, so I hope you do the same, too. You might need it in this chapter, anyway. If it can help, here's the way I picture Harry : a bit shorter than John, blond hair cut above the shoulders and a bit messy, rather thin, with a shirt (checked, white and several shades of blue) and tight jeans (light blue). I don't know why she would like blue so much, but it looks good in my head. Anyway, that's just the way I see things, of course._

* * *

Months passed and spring came. Sherlock and John had established a schedule of the time they would spend together and the time they would spend preparing for their exams at the end of the year. Sherlock didn't seem to need to prepare at all, and John was wondering what he could be doing, but he never complained, since he himself did need to use all the time he could have. It was also time to apply for colleges, and in order to enter a medical cursus John needed to pass more exams, which he was also preparing for. He didn't know what Sherlock wanted to apply for ; they had never talked about it yet, and since Sherlock had guessed John's dream career himself, John hadn't really had any occasion to ask Sherlock about his.

It was one of the "working" evenings, and John was steadily going through the program of the medical schools exams under the light of his desk lamp. He was confident about it – he had been interested in medicine for a long time now and he already new a lot. He still came across a few points that he wanted to check on the internet to collect more informations. The Watsons had one computer, rather old, but still working properly. It had been placed in Harry's room, since she was the one to use it the most.

He got up to see if it was free, and reached Harry's room. Harry and him had been talking a lot more since the incident, but never about Sherlock. He knew something was bothering her, but he couldn't figure out what – and he couldn't get himself to bring back the subject. He was too afraid to lose their closeness again.

He knocked and opened Harry's door simultaneously.

"Hey, Harry, are you – Oh, sorry, I didn't know you had a friend coming over."

Harry was sitting on a small bed standing against the wall opposite the door. The desk with the computer was on the right side of the room, a high window was occupying the left wall, and an old dresser faced the bed on the left of the door. Next to Harry, seated on the blue sheets of the bed as well, was a young brunette, staring at John with her large green eyes. Her smooth hair were surprisingly long, falling beautifully on the tanned skin of her shoulders.

"Uh, John, this is Carla. She's in my class."

John nodded as a "hello", and smiled at his sister before going out of her room and closing the door behind him. He didn't recall seeing the girl with Harry back at school – but then again, the center of his attention there was mostly Sherlock, and Harry and him didn't spend any time together out of home, so he wouldn't know. He went back to his room and sat in front of his desk, ready to go back to work, when suddenly, the reason he had gotten up in the first place came back to his mind. He sighed – how could he possibly be so absent-minded ? - and went back to Harry's. He didn't take the time to knock this time, assuming she would have heard him coming, and opened the door at once.

"It's me again, I forgot I needed the -" he stopped at the sight of Harry, her hand on Carla's thigh, linked to the girl in a kiss. The two girls quickly moved away, jumping in surprise. All three stared at each other agape for a moment in the embarassed silence, not knowing what to say, John paralized in shock. Slowly, he managed to turn around ; and on an impulse he ran out of the room and down the stairs. Harry ran after him.

"John !" She cried. "John, wait ! Where are you going ?"

"I am going", he said between his teeth, "to see my _boyfriend_. Boyfriend, boyfriend, _boyfriend_. Remember the word, you were supposed to have one !" The last words were a scream. Harry stood in shock at the accusation. John grabbed the doorknob, but changed his mind and faced her. "How long has this been going on ?"

Harry was trembling. "John, I -"

"How long ?" He repeated, louder, insisting on each of the two words.

"L-last May", she stuttered. "We've been in the same class for a few years."

John closed his eyes. "I can't believe, that you would lecture me about going out with a man, when _you_ have been sticking your tongue in a girl's throat for almost a _year_ !"

"Oh, so it's bad when it's _me_ ?" Harry snapped.

"No, Harry !" He was shouting, his voice trembling with fury. She took a few steps back. "I don't care who you're in love with long as you're happy, and I don't give a fuck that it's a girl you want ! I'm just so freaking mad, that you would not even have the guts to admit it to _me_ ! I have been confessing my whole life to you, Harry. You are not just my sister, for God's sake ! You've always been my best friend ! And you've been blaming me, for loving Sherlock, why ? Because you can't face the fact that you're a woman, in love with another woman." He paused to catch his breath. There were tears in his voice. "I just – I just don't understand why you never trusted me with this. Wasn't I always there ? I was there, for you, when you were afraid of the dark, and – and when you were afraid of storms, and when you were afraid that, you wouldn't make friends at school. I was there for you, when those kids broke your favorite doll, and when they pushed you down the playing ground ; and you were afraid of them, and I was there, and I protected you. And I was there for you, every time you ever needed protection, and every time you were afraid of something – anything. I would've been there, more than ever, when you were afraid of yourself, Harry."

She was standing in the hallway, eyes closed, tears running down her cheeks and falling on the floor, her whole body shivering violently, shaking her head in an attempt to avoid John's words.

"I – I never wanted to hurt you." Her voice was a breathless whisper. "I wanted to accept it, John. I wanted to. But you're going to go through hell if anyone knows that you're really dating Sherlock ! I can't watch my brother getting destroyed, I can't face that ! And you can't face that !"

"I can decide myself what I can or cannot face, and I don't need you to protect me, especially when you're doing it only to protect yourself." John looked away. "I'm going now. I don't know when I'll be home. Tell mom not to worry." Before she could answer, he had turned away, and the door closed on his walking silhouette.

* * *

It was raining, and John was soaking wet when he reached Sherlock's doorstep. He took some time, hesitating now that he was outside on whether or not he should disturb him, and finally decided to knock. He was about to when the door opened on Sherlock. Next to him, a woman in her fourties, with brown and curly hair cut short, was shaking his hand. Sherlock looked at him in astonishment.

"John ?"

John scratched his head, looking for words. "Uh, sorry to uh, to show up like that. Hello", he said to the woman. "We haven't been introduced. Are you uh, are you Sherlock's mom ?" The woman laughed.

"I wish I were, my dear. I wish I were. But life didn't grace me with children – and if only you knew, you'd say it's a good thing, I trust." She examined the lost look on John's face, and when she realised he had nothing to reply, she turned back to Sherlock. "Well, my fate is in your tiny ha– uh, in your - hands, young man." She suddenly looked more serious, almost desperate. "Will I ever thank you enough for your help ?"

Sherlock's face showed a mild expression when he replied. "I didn't do anything yet, Mrs Hudson. But I'll try my best, you have my word." Mrs Hudson nodded at John with a poor smile and got in a cab that was waiting near the house. John could hear her voice through the open window : "221a Baker Street, please." And the cab was gone. Sherlock turned his worried eyes to John's face. "Come on in." he said softly.

Sherlock took John's wet coat and hung it on the back of a chair in the kitchen ; then he started preparing tea as John sat on another chair. Sherlock just fixed his gaze on John's face, waiting for him to talk first. The only sound, filling the room, was the one of the water boiling. John's eyes were lost somewhere on the table.

"You knew, didn't you ?" He said, flatly, without looking up. "About Harry." Sherlock nodded. "But you didn't say." His eyes finally rose to meet Sherlock's. "Why ?"

"You wouldn't have wanted to hear it from me." John had to admit it was true. He frowned. Sherlock was clearly hesitating to add something. "I – I talked to her." he finally said.

"What ? When ?"

"Back when you had that argument about me, a few months ago. I arrived early on a Tuesday morning ; our first class was at 10am, and hers at 8am, so I knew you wouldn't be there. I knew the reason for her reaction, and I knew it had nothing to do with you – or not everything, at least. She was concerned about you because she had been afraid for some time because of this and she didn't want you to live the same thing. You had too much trouble already."

"But – so – what did you tell her then ?"

"I told her to tell you the truth. I was concerned about you, too. She didn't even look surprised that I knew – I suspect you told her about my observation habits." He smiled. "Anyway, she was reluctant, but she agreed it was the right thing to do if she didn't want to lose you – and then you followed the advice I gave you and took the first step. I guess she believed she didn't have to talk to you in the end."

John thought it over. "Why didn't she trust me in the first place ?" He had spoken to himself, but Sherlock answered.

"At first, she didn't think it was serious. She thought things had just turned out this way, and it wouldn't last, and it wasn't worth telling you. Then summer break was over, and they both realised they were really in love with each other. That's when she got scared." John looked up. "She admires you, John. She was afraid of disappointing you, of losing your respect. She was also afraid of what people would say, obviously. Apparently, she realised quickly that you, uh, _liked_ me, and she considered telling you. But the gay related insults started, and you know what's next. It was more than she could take."

John looked down and bit his lip, a sour look on his face. "Did she tell you all that ?"

Sherlock realised what it all looked like, and he came closer and sat next to John. He took his hand. "Of course not. I observed it. She never told anyone what I just told you."

John looked relieved. He looked down and said "Tea's ready." Sherlock stood back up and prepared two cups, one of which he placed in front of John. He took his seat, and his hand found its place back on John's, who sighed and looked up. "What about that Peter guy, then ? The one she's supposed to be dating ?"

"He knew", Sherlock replied. "He's not in love with her, either. He's more of her best friend. In fact, if they hadn't told people they were more, it could look like they were just that – noticed how they never kiss in public ? They only hold hands when they walk together, and how many girls do that with their best friend ?"

John shook his head. "I didn't notice." He paused. "I can't believe Peter knew and I didn't."

"Don't blame her", Sherlock whispered. "She never wanted to hurt you."

John lift his head, and linked his teary eyes with Sherlock's. "Well, she did", he murmured. He blinked to evacuate the tears from his eyes and bent over, burying his head in Sherlock's neck as Sherlock gently caressed his hair and kissed his forehead. He cried quietly for a moment, slowly relaxing under Sherlock's touch. Finally, his voice emerged from Sherlock's shoulder. "Can I sleep hear tonight ?"

"Shouldn't you go home and talk to Harry ?" Sherlock murmured with a soft voice.

"I'm not ready to go home." His breath was warm on Sherlock's skin.

"There's school tomorrow."

"So what ? I can go to school from here. You do."

"You don't have your bag. Or a change of clothes."

"I was under the impression there was some of those in this house."

"Not afraid to bother the rest of the family ?"

"There's only you in here."

Sherlock smiled. "I'm out of arguments. Stay as long as you wish. Did you have dinner ?"

"Not yet."

"What would you like to have, then ?"

"Don't know. What else than eggs can you cook ?"

"Not much, I'm afraid."

"Then eggs. Please."

"Then get up", Sherlock commended. "You're heavy. I can't move."

"Someone as short as I am can't be that heavy", John grumbled back, but he removed his head from Sherlock's shoulder and watched him get up. Sherlock put four eggs on a frying pan. John smiled with interest. "Am I about to see you eat ?" he asked. Sherlock laughed.

"Seems like it. Now you can testify that I'm a human being."

"What an honor that is." The meal was soon ready and they sat facing one another, as they used to do in the lunch room. John seemed more peaceful than when Sherlock had found him on his doorstep, though his eyes were still wet and red with tears. "So, who is Mrs Hudson ?"

Sherlock looked startled at first ; then he remembered. "Oh. She's a client."

John stopped and stared at him. Sherlock didn't seem to be joking. "A client ? What client ?"

"My client." John looked all the more confused.

"What is she purchasing ?"

Sherlock laughed. "She isn't purchasing anything. I'm not interested in money." His eyes were sparkling. John remained silent, trying to figure it out, so he went on. "You see, I couldn't find any profession that would suit me. So I decided to create one. With the science of deduction, I can solve any kind of enigma. I can solve any police case. I've been interested in crimes archives for a while. Have I ever told you about Carl Powers ?"

John looked as if someone had just hit him on the head. "Wait – what ? The science of what ?"

"The science of deduction. I told you about it. You see, you observe, you deduce."

"Yes, right, that thing only you do because only you aren't dumb. Ok. Now who ?"

"Carl Powers. He was a kid that drowned in a pool. Tragic accident. Except it wasn't an accident."

"Why ?"

"His shoes were missing."

"And ?"

"Think, John ! He was at the pool, all his clothes in the changing room, but not his shoes. Where did they go ? Kid couldn't have removed it, he was dead at the bottom of the pool."

"That's... odd, it's true."

"Someone took them, and that someone killed Carl Powers. Of course, the police didn't want to hear about it."

John nodded slowly, trying to follow Sherlock's train of thoughts. "Ok. But – what does it have to do with you having clients ?"

"It was a few years ago, and my interest for solving cases has grown ever since. I want to be a detective, John. But not just any detective. A consulting one. One you could go to when no one else can help you, not even the police."

"Isn't that a private detective ?"

"No, because the police don't go to private detectives. And I am confident they'll end up doing that."

"Can't you simply join the police and be their best officer ?"

Sherlock had a contemptuous snort. "They're just a bunch of incompetent wankers. And I'd have to play by the rules. That's not my thing. Freedom is so much more fun."

"Ok, that makes sense... I mean, coming from you. And Mrs Hudson ?"

"I'm trying to get some credit in the field. I heard Mrs Hudson had troubles that I could put an end to. She might be the key to my future success as a consulting detective."

John took some time to digest the informations. He shook his head in incredulity. "Consulting Detective. That's... brilliant." Sherlock had the most satisfied smile.

"I know."

* * *

_Author's not (yet another) : I'm afraid I failed at thanking you at the end of every single chapter last time. I was in a bit of a hurry, and too amazed at the new followers and reviews – I didn't process it at first. _

_I ought to apologize for not posting in a few days, but I lost the wifi connexion I had access too, and I was on holidays in a place where you couldn't hope to find such thing as a cafe with wifi, so there was just nothing I could do. I only had a quick re-read at this, I hope you don't find any mistake – or worse, a french word between brackets... I do that when I can't find a word and can't look for it – but I don't have plenty of time so I'll just post this. If you spot anything, please tell me !_


	9. Chapter 9

When John woke up, he didn't know where he was. The alarm clock wasn't his. It didn't feel like his bed ; it didn't feel anything like his house, but it sure did feel like home. The matress was more than comfortable, and he had slept like a baby Slowly, his sleepy mind assembled the pieces of the events of the previous night, and he smiled when he realised who was behind him, turning off the alarm clock with a grumble, stretching, yawning, letting his arm fall heavily on John's waist, mumbling "Morning"... John moved and laid on his back so he could see Sherlock.

"Morning", he replied with a sleepy voice and a sigh of content. Sherlock barely heard him ; he was already falling back in the depth of sleep. John reached out and ruffled the already messy dark curls of the boy ; an unintelligible grumble came back to his ears. John got up on an elbow. "Get up, you marmot, I have to take a shower and I need you to find a shirt I could put on after that."

Something that sounded like "Get one yourself" was all John could hear. He sighed and got up, pulling the covers to the end of the bed, revealing Sherlock's body, wearing only pajama pants. He shivered at the sudden cold and cowered, whining : "But – but – John !" He pouted and looked up, begging him with his eyes to let him sleep some more. John was looking at him, a scolding look on his face, holding the covers with his left hand and the other one on his hip, the delicate muscles of his torso and his large shoulders illuminated by the scarce rays of sun filtring through the sides of the curtains. Sherlock swallowed at the sight of it and, barely blinking, he finally sat on the bed.

"Ok, I'll get up and find something for you", he grumbled. "Quick on the shower. I need one, too." John smiled and, releasing the covers, he bent over, resting his fists on the mattress, and planted a kiss on Sherlock's forehead.

"I'll be there in a minute, then." And he disappeared in the bathroom, leaving a blushing Sherlock behind.

When he got downstairs, Sherlock was finishing his breakfast and he had prepared one for John. He took his own shower, and went in search of a bag for John – he could always have used what Sherlock put in his, but it would have been suspect for John to go to school without a bag at all. They were finally ready, and they headed to school. Sherlock went first, and John waited a few minutes to follow. It was ridiculous that they had to take any precaution at all, he thought ; but they did.

The day went on just the way any day would. They went from classroom to classroom, and in and out of the lunch room. After a questionable meal, they walked in silence towards their next classroom. John was, yet again, thinking that it was weird, even ridiculous to think that they had waken up this very morning side by side in the same bed, and now that they were at school, they had to walk at a reasonable distance from each other not to get any hateful comment ; when he saw Harry. He felt a lump in his throat. He needed to talk to her ; but not now, not at school. They still steadily avoided each other there. This time, he did notice she was only holding hands with Peter, and didn't even pay any attention to him. Carla sat nearby, among their little group of friends, and Harry only had eyes for her. The look of pain mingled with fear painted on her face hit John like a punch in the stomach, and he realised she felt just the way he did. She needed to be with Carla just as much as he needed to be with Sherlock ; and he had been blaming her for her behaviour when he himself didn't do better. They were both hiding, and they were both hurt ; and he had to make it stop, he had to change that look on his sister's face. Suddenly, she looked up, feeling John's eyes on her. He gave her the brightest smile he could ; and in seconds, he turned back to Sherlock, walking closer to him, and he grabbed his hand, intertwining their fingers together, walking down the corridors with a proud look on his face, a look that said "Fuck you, he's my boyfriend." Sherlock simply smiled, and he held his hand tighter. They reached the classroom, where a few of their classmates were already waiting, but didn't let go of each other. John made a face when he saw Larry, his wide eyes going from their faces to their hands tied together and back again. "What you looking at ?" he asked unpleasantly. Larry didn't even reply. Sherlock and John kept on to their seats at the back of the room, and sat side by side, grinning at each other. When you stop giving a damn about what people think, they simply stop trying to take you down.

* * *

When John got home that evening, Harry was waiting for him, sitting on the first step of the stairs. She looked up when she heard the door opening, and got up clumsily. They stared at each other in silence for a moment. Finally, she opened her mouth, and stuttered with a trembling voice.

"I – I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

John didn't answer at first. He broke the distance between them and took his sister in his arms, holding her like something dear to your heart that you had lost and you just found back, and murmured : "I'm sorry I got mad. I should've tried to understand." He pushed her away gently, and examined her face. "Have you been crying ?"

She bit her lip. "No ?" John smiled.

"You're such a bad liar."

She had a small laugh, but quickly her face looked serious again. John gave her a questionning look. "How – how did you do ?"

"How did I do what ?"

"Just – walking with him, hand in hand, like nothing else matters ?"

"I told you once, remember ? It doesn't matter what people think. It really doesn't. Just let go of Peter's hand, and take hers, and if you don't care what they think, they won't think anything at all."

"There will always be someone to protest, you know that."

"Well, that someone can go to hell", John answered with a wink. He took her back in his arms, and added : "And remember. I will _always_ be there for you. Understood ?" She backed away and nodded, smiling to her brother. "I'm serious", he said, a concerned look on his face. "Don't ever hide anything else from me. Please. I can accept anything from you but only if you trust me."

"I promise."

John grinned. "Now, I really needed that computer, yesterday. If you'll excuse me." He kissed her cheek and ran upstairs to catch his work where he had left it.

John kept on working late, not noticing the passing time ; he even forgot dinner and went downstairs in the middle of the night to find something to eat. He was feeling so euphoric, he couldn't even sleep. He turned again and again in his bed, barely feeling his tireness. When he got up the next morning, more eager than ever to find Sherlock seated at the back of the classroom like he always was, he knew what it was : for once in his life, he was genuinely happy.

He was even more so when, after a quick shower and just as quick a breakfast, he opened the door to find Sherlock, patiently waiting for him on his doorstep. Hearing the door, the boy looked up and said nothing, but offered him a smile that was worth all the "Good morning" of the universe ; and, without losing the smile, he held out his hand for John to take it. John's grin was alsmot too wide for his own head when he took the offered hand and started walking, but Sherlock stopped him and, before John could ask anything, he planted a soft kiss on his lips.

"You weren't about to go without a good morning kiss, were you ?" he said with a smirk.

"What – no."

"You're a terrible liar."

"I don't know what you're talking about." John grinned and kissed him back, a hand on Sherlock's cheek. "Now let's go."

Sherlock waited at John's door the next morning, and the morning after, and every morning after that. Sometimes John would stay at Sherlock's for the night, but unlike the first time he did, they would walk together in the morning, hand in hand, until they found their seats at the end of a classroom. Most people made sure to avoid them as if they had the plague, but for the biggest part the remarks and insults had stop, since it didn't affect them anymore ; and they couldn't care less that no one would approach them. They were happy as they had always been : on their own.

That day Sherlock looked particularly satisfied when John opened the door.

"What happened ?" he asked while they were walking. "You look... I think delighted is the word."

"Appropriate word indeed. Mrs Hudson's case is an absolute success."

"Really ? So what did you do for her ?"

"Uh, nothing, really. Just made sure her husband was sentenced to death." John's eyes widened.

"Wh- her husband ? Why would she want him dead ?"

Sherlock suddenly looked bitter. "I'd rather not talk about that." He sighed. "I never thought it would be so bad when I offered my help. Turns out I was more than right to do so. By the way, I know you're coming over tonight, but she wanted to stop by and I told her she could. I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not. Long as you don't throw me out." Sherlock laughed.

"I'll let you stay this time. But don't make a habit of interfering on my relationships with women. Hey – ouch !" He rubbed the arm John had just punched. An innocent smile was his only reply.

The evening came, and so did Mrs Hudson. John didn't know the exact nature of her past worries, though he suspected something ; but now that Sherlock had relieved her, she didn't look anything like the first time he had seen her : much happier, even younger, in a way. When Sherlock opened the door on her, she took him in her arms, almost crying out of gratitude.

"Thank you so much, Mr Holmes !"

"Please, I told you to call me Sherlock. Don't thank me, I was only doing my job." The proud tone with which he had said the last word made John smile. "Would you like some tea, Mrs Hudson ?"

She finally released Sherlock and nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes, please. Oh, here, I brought cookies", she added, reaching out for something in her bag. "It's really not much, but – it's the best thing I could think of. Dear Lord, you shook my whole world, there, Sherlock, I can't even think straight anymore." Sherlock laughed and led her to the living room while John went to the kitchen to start preparing tea. He went back with three cups on a silver tray, which he put on the table before the three of them.

"Do you take sugar, Mrs Hudson ?" he asked.

"Yes, please."

"I'll get it, then."

While he left, he could hear Mrs Hudson's voice in the living room. "I've seen a lot of this young man around, lately. You're really close, you too. Forgive my indiscretion – I don't mean to be rude ; I should mind my own business, but – oh, I'm so curious - are you too involved in a relationship ?"

He heard the same proud tone in Sherlock's answer. "I'd say we are, yes." John reddened. Mrs Hudson replied with an enthusiastic "Ooooh !" He turned back, the sugar in his hands, and saw her nodding through the glass replacing the wall. "He really seems to be a respectable young man", she added. "Lovely and everything. Don't you let him go ! You got lucky to find a man like that", she added with an evocative tone and a wink. When John got back, his ears had gone red too, and Sherlock was hesitating between laughter and embarassment. She took the sugar from John's hands and added with a wide smile, ignorant of their embarassment : "Thank you, dear !"

* * *

The end of the year came faster than they expected. Soon, june was there with the exams ; then summer break, all of it John would spend away, forced to stay wherever his family took him ; and that was all around the country, at their grandparent's, and at their aunt's and cousin's, and so on, and above all, that was away from Sherlock for three bloody months. John was spending one last night at Sherlock's before going ; and even though it was late, even though he would have to get up early in the morning, they couldn't go to bed, too afraid to let it even come. They sat on the bed, facing one another, not knowing what to say anymore after hours of uninterrupted talking. They were both looking down, Sherlock playing with John's fingers. He broke the silence.

"I don't want you to go."

"I don't want to leave so much, either", John whispered back. He gave him a poor smile. "Come on, it's not like I'm gonna be away for years. I'm gonna study in London, here, with you. I'll be back in just a few months, and then, I'll make sure never to leave again. I promise."

Sherlock rested his chin on John's shoulder. "I wish this could be true."

John put a kiss somewhere on his face. "It is. Wherever you are, I'll be."

For a while, they were quiet again, listening to the sound of them breathing together, in the same rhythm. John felt Sherlock back away from his shoulder. He turned to find his eyes, and was surprised at their intensity.

"What is it you're thinking about ?" He murmured.

"You're going tomorrow."

"Yes."

Sherlock moved closer. "I've been thinking about it for some time."

"What is that ?" John breathed as Sherlock kept leaning forward.

"I think you know what." His lips were pressing on John's.

"I think I do."

Sherlock slid his fingers down John's cheek to his neck. "No rush. If you're not..."

"Shh", John whispered, linking his lips back with Sherlock's. He slowly bent backwards, until they were both lying, tied together in a deep kiss, taking one last chance to say goodbye.

* * *

John started his studies in medicine in London, he and Sherlock both still living at their parent's, but always one at the other's house, as if they actually lived together. He also helped Sherlock looking for cases to solve as a new Consulting Detective ; then he helped him solve it (not that he felt useful at all, but Sherlock insisted he wanted him to come along, so he just did when he had the time.) One summer John took Sherlock to Spain (or the other way around, rather, since John couldn't pay for everything himself) sometime in July, just the two of them ; they visited Barcelona for a week, as Sherlock said he would like to when they first met, both enthusiastic at the sight of Gaudi's years passed like that, quickly, and the two men never parted ; until one day. When John graduated as a doctor, his father forced him to join the army, and he had no choice but to comply, though he knew it meant leaving it all behind, including Sherlock, for several years. After their absolute closeness, it hurt to think they would have to be apart for so long. But he had to go, and he did, after a last promise to Sherlock : _Please wait for me, because I'll come back for you._ And he would have, if he hadn't been sent to Afghanistan.

* * *

_Author's note : Sorry again for the delay, but here it is ! Hope you liked it. Next chapter will be the last one, so get ready for the end ! I really hope you enjoyed the story so far. I've been hesitating between a few endings ; if you want to I'll expose it to you at the end of the next chapter, though I believe the one I chose was the most appropriate for the story. Hope you'll think so, too. _

_Also, I never apologized for my english. I said I was french at the beginning, so I guess that's why I didn't get any comment on it. I think I'm doing rather well, but I know there is probably plenty of mistakes here and there, so I am really sorry about it, and I hope it doesn't make the story less attractive. _


	10. Chapter 10

_Author's note : This is the final chapter of this story. Please make sur to enjoy it !_

_Just so you know, I started writing this story long before the last BBC trailer came out (the one where Sherlock says "Just the two of us against the rest of the world") and I wrote most of this very chapter right after I wrote the first chapter of the story because I had the idea then and wanted to keep it, and that's the way I chose the title of the story. The fact that it matches Sherlock's actual words is an absolute coincidence._

* * *

John Watson gets back to London. He knows he is a doctor. He knows he was part of some war in Afghanistan. He knows he was shot. He knows he was sent back to England. He knows he came back as John Watson, more a limp, minus his memory.

His most recent souvenirs, to be specific. He remembers his childhood, his first years of school, of high school... and then nothing. It stops in the middle of it. His psychiatrist says those memories were probably the best he ever had. She says that when he saw his death coming, not knowing he would escape it in the end, he chose, unconsciously, to delete them from his brain, so they wouldn't die with him. She says they are so precious to him, that his own mind tried to save them from being shot like he was. He thinks this is some stupid trick to make him try harder, to make him look for his lost memory. But memories don't get _shot_, and he doesn't think he's dumb enough to forget something so it won't die, espacially knowing that now, it _is_ dead. He thinks he was just shaken up a bit from the war. Who wouldn't be ?

He's back in London now. Someone ran into him, a friend from college, apparently ; a certain Mike Stamford that he knew before joining the army. He doesn't remember, of course. He introduces him to an aquaintance of his, someone who's looking for a flatmate. John is, too. He feels inexplicably lonely ever since he returned, so he jumps right in. His new flatmate is called Sherlock Holmes.

He's conceited, smart to the level of scary, absolutely gorgeous, doesn't care for anyone but himself and never seems to feel anything at all, but in a way John couldn't explain, his presence soothes him. He likes sharing a flat with Sherlock Holmes. They seem to understand, even complete each other. He's the closest thing he has to a friend, now that he can't even tell if he ever had one before the war.

Sherlock is a Consulting Detective. Means when the police doesn't have a clue what happened, they come to him and he solves the crime. Apparently he created the job for himself and is the only one in the world. Since John doesn't have a job anymore, he solves the crimes with him. He does look for an actual job as a doctor – that's what he is, after all - at the hospital now and then, but investigating with Sherlock is so much more... thrilling. Sometimes, when they are on a crime scene, the officers of Scotland Yard stare at him, as if they knew something about him that he himself didn't. He wonders if he knew them before, but then he thinks, having them in front of him, his memory would come back, so he probably doesn't. Sherlock does sometimes, too, when he thinks John can't see him. It's an odd look, one you don't expect to ever appear on Sherlock's face ; something between sadness and hope, and John can only wonder why. But even when John doesn't see it, he can still feel the intensity of the man's eyes on his back.

The officers of Scotland Yard – and most people, for all John knows - don't like Sherlock. Some hate him, even. Like Sally Donovan ; she calls him "The Freak". No one can stand Sherlock Holmes. John can't understand why they all hate him so much, though he can't understand why he himself is so fond of him, either. He just can't dislike Sherlock Holmes. Sometimes he feels overwhelmed by his presence, without knowing why or how, and he feels things he didn't even know were possible, and then it's gone. He supposes it's the war again, same thing that cost him his memory. He may be a bit more messed up than he suspected.

He stopped counting the times he nearly died while working with Sherlock Holmes. No more memories got lost, but none came back, either. He also stopped counting how many girlfriends he had. He can't figure out why Sherlock always seems to kick them out ; and, on another level, why everyone thinks they are involved. Their landlady, Mrs Hudson – who also stares at him like she knew something – keeps calling them lovebirds. At first it was embarrassing, but he grew accustomed to it, and he doesn't even protest anymore. He can't deny Sherlock Holmes makes him feel a bit dizzy ; but he definitely won't tell them that. This is too scary for him to even think about it.

A lot of women tried to hit on Sherlock, but he never seemed attracted to any ; "not my area", he says. That is, until Irene Adler came, the most beautiful woman John had ever seen. That's when John started getting jealous. He feels guilty to be almost relieved that she died. She wasn't exactly a respectable woman, anyway ; but being happy with someone's death is not respectable, either, is it ? And now he is starting to have feelings for a man. Oh, but not just any man ; _Sherlock Holmes_. What the hell is going on ?

Here's what's going on. Someone is trying to take Sherlock down. To make him look like a fraud ; like he's never been a real detective, like his brain never defied human intelligence, like he was never a genius. Why does John believe in him so much ? It doesn't matter, he just does ; and here they are, fugitives. He doesn't know what to do ; but he's never leaving Sherlock. Ever. _Except_ for one moment, to check on Mrs Hudson ; apparently she's been shot. This is worse than John had expected. Sherlock won't come. Why won't he come ? Why... of course, he should've known ; he should've known that it wasn't true, that she was all fine, that Sherlock was only sending him away. So he comes back, but it's too late, and Sherlock is there, standing on the edge of the hospital roof.

The phone rings. It's Sherlock. He's talking nonsense ; what is he saying, anyway ? Him, a fake ? An actual fraud ? His note, wh- what note ? What _goodbye_ ? Good lord, he's going to jump, Sherlock Holmes is going to die ; oh please, please don't, because I can't live if you're gone, I can't live if you go and leave me behind ; is he begging out loud ? Is he only thinking this ? The world is a blur, and he doesn't see reality anymore. Or not this one. He sees Sherlock, yes ; but a younger Sherlock, sitting alone in a crowded lunch room, or at the back of a classroom ; Sherlock smirking at him, Sherlock punching a boy with massive shoulders, and Sherlock taking care of John's bruises in a familiar bathroom ; Sherlock's eyes shining bright with tenderness and genuine happiness ; and Sherlock is kissing him, holding him, John can feel him, feel his touch, the softness of the finger sliding light as a feather on his bare skin, and he's whispering "I don't want you to go." ; John doesn't want him to go, either, not now, not ever ; now Sherlock is back on top of the roof, violently ripped off their tight embrace by the hard reality of "here and now", and even from there John can see the tears on his cheeks, as clearly as he feels his own, and his heart racing, screaming something ; what is it screaming ? John hears his own voice now.

"I REMEMBER YOU !"

Silence falls. Sherlock is still breathing through the phone.

"I re – I remember you." John's voice is filled with tears. Breathless. He goes on ; he will talk as long as it takes to keep Sherlock from jumping. "I'm so, so sorry I left you behind. Please, don't - don't do this to me, don't go, please, don't. I can't live, I can't live if you do."

Sherlock's voice is breathless, too. "But if I don't go, you will."

"No !" John cries. "I won't, I swear to you I won't, I'll always be with you, always !"

"No, no you won't." Sherlock sounds helpless. "John, if I don't die now, someone will kill you, you and Mrs Hudson and Lestrade. I have to. I can't lose you, not again, not this time."

"No !" John's voice is breaking.

"Can you forgive me ?"

"Don't..."

There's someone else on the roof. Who is this ? John blinks to chase the tears away ; he can't see anything. He hears Sherlock.

"Molly ?"

Another voice gets through the phone. "You're clear ! I took care of everything !" What does that mean ? What is she talking about ? Is this a _gun_ shining in Molly's hand ?

"You did ? Molly, you - you really did ? I never thought you would do this yourself, I mean - How – how do you feel ?"

"Brilliant ! Shooting's fun ! Now I get why you like doing it so much."

"Molly, you just killed three people."

She shrugs. "Well, they were bad guys, weren't they ? It was you or them, so... them, better."

John is panicking. "What ? What is going on ? Who got killed ?"

Sherlock is taking a deep breath, he sounds relieved ; he even laughs. "I told Molly to get someone to take care of the three shooters if they could find them. I never thought she would do it herself !"

"That's... badass. Molly !" John is laughing, too.

"John... John, it's over. It's all over !" John starts walking towards Saint Bart's, still on the phone.

"Then come down, what are you waiting for ? Come down !" He hears Sherlock is running. He runs up the stairs, too. They run, and run again, until they bump in each other, and they let go of their phones, and they just hold each other, afraid that if they stop, one of them will disappear. In a blur, they hear Molly saying : "Well, I'll leave you two, then." She has an embarassed look on her face, and they realise she never knew that they used to be together. They hug her, too, and she goes away. They stay there, long lost lovers that just found each other and will never let anything make them part again.

Sherlock murmurs : "I missed you. I missed you so much."

John answers with a small laugh. "I guess the damn psychiatrist was right. I _really_ tried to protect my happiest memories when I got shot. How dumb is that ?"

"You're an idiot." Sherlock presses his forehead on John's. "I was afraid you wouldn't ever get those back."

John gives him a tender look. "I'm glad I did."

"You know we're fugitives, now."

John laughs again. "I guess some things never change."

"What do you mean ?"

"From beginning to end, it's us against the world."

He kisses him, and at that very moment, "the world" doesn't exist anymore. One word, one tiny word, is all that matters. "_Us_".

* * *

_Author's note : here you go, the story ends here ! _

_Now, as I told you at the end of the last chapter, I had a few other ideas. Two, to be exact ; but this one was the first one and the most relevant one. In both of the following ideas, John loses his memory and he leads us to the Sherlock on the roof._

_In the first one, Molly never shows, and Sherlock explains that he's not gonna die, and begs John to wait for him. I got that idea listening to "The call" from Regina Spector (which you can hear in one of the Narnia movies, if I recall properly, and which is really beautiful), when she says "You'll come back when it's over" (here it would have been "I", of course) and I thought that would be something Sherlock would say in such a situation. I didn't go with it for two reasons : first, it wasn't my first idea (as I said, it's the one I went with) and it didn't match so much the title of the story (which I came up with because of the first idea) ; second, John and Sherlock were just reunited, and it broke my heart to think I would make them part again for three more years. That would have been torture._

_The second idea, you'll have it in another fic. Let me explain._

_I was listening to another song and I had an idea (apparently that happens a lot) for a whole other Johnlock fanfiction (a one shot) and for a moment I considered attaching it to this story to make a single one, in which Sherlock would have jumped without explaining to John that he would survive – and add the other story from that point ; why I didn't go with that one, well, you will find out soon enough ! It is now on this website, so if you want to see it, it is called "If you'll be waiting"._

_Anyway, thank you so much for reading this story, I had the greatest time writing it ! And thank you once more for all your wonderful reviews, it meant so much !_

_(Once last thing : I love writing, but my true passion is music. I did write a Johnlock song that you can find on my youtube channel TheMidoriFairy if you want !)_


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